


Red Sun

by difficultheart



Series: broken chords can sing a little [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Body Horror, Demonology, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fuck Scott Lobdell, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Multi-racial Jason Todd, Mutual Pining, Prophetic Visions, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, This one is uh......Dark, no beta we die like men, non-canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 213,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/difficultheart/pseuds/difficultheart
Summary: Rumor has it that for a low, low price, a pretty girl with ugly scars in Gotham's East Side will take out a faded Tarot deck and tell you your future with eerie accuracy.Rumor has it that the fallen son is being chased by things he doesn't understand, creatures from nightmares, and is beginning to get a little desperate.(Or: Jason Todd takes a Prophet on a road trip to kill the demons hunting him before they kill him.)
Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character(s), Jason Todd/Reader, Red Hood/Reader
Series: broken chords can sing a little [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884304
Comments: 122
Kudos: 382





	1. Prelude: The Hanged Man and Death

The dreams had been plaguing you for weeks. Each morning you woke with the taste of ash on your tongue and a buzzing under your skin.

_A boy falling in flames_

_A man rising to burn the world that failed him_

_Deep dark drowning depths_

_Whispers of things that should not be heard_

_Cold fingers clinging to warm flesh_

_Life where death had claimed its stake_

It was difficult not to give in to the itch, the urge to let the prophecy spill from your tongue and your veins. No more blood, no more pain. Only the dry shuffle of old cards on the table and their curling edges under your fingers.

“You are not what they tried to make you,” you told the girl in the mirror. “You are different now.”

Hard to remember, sometimes. Close to impossible not to claw at your skin and let it all out. You reminded yourself of the tricks the old fortune teller had taught you. Close your eyes, feel the cards under your skin, let the itch guide you to speaking the future in a different way. Ignore the ache of the old scars, the quiet pity in strangers’ eyes when they saw what had been done to your face.

You were not the helpless instrument of so-called divine revelations. No, you refused to become that ever again.

So you went to your cards, shuffled them, closed your eyes and let destiny guide your hands.

Rumor spread of a pretty girl in Gotham Village with a scarred and blind eye and an uncanny ability to predict the future. You spread your cards for more and more people, lost yourself in the trance and let the buzz under your skin control your actions. Fortunes, not prophecies, but small enough and powerful enough to relieve the undying urge to be a speaker for destiny. If someone came to your door, you did not turn them down, spreading your cards for any person who had the money to pay you.

But you did readings for yourself, too. Since the dreams had started, they were always the same.

_Hanged Man. Six of Swords. Death._

You knew the spread. You were the Hanged Man. A symbol of divination, meditation, prophecy. Six of Swords for a long journey. But Death? Your spreads were for the future, not the past. You had already traveled to the new start that Death usually signified. Maybe Death was a person or a place you would journey to, a companion. The edges of the cards were splitting apart with the amount of times you had handled them, memorized the art on their faces.

_Hanged Man. Six of Swords. Death._

_Icarus rising from a glowing pit, life where death had made its claim._

The buzz got worse with each passing day. It distracted from your readings, Death showing up in each one until you cleared your head and focused.

_Death. Death. Death._

It plagued you, that card. Showed up in your dreams, as a man with red static for a face and a pistol in each hand. Who was he, this man who kept invading your fortunes? Had he been hired to kill you, or to take you back to the compound you had escaped? Would he lead you on this journey destiny had in mind for you, or would he be at the end of it?

Your scars itched and burned, the mass of scar tissue over what remained of your left eye hurting the worst.

_The wound had been meant as a punishment, but had given you the keys to your freedom._

Hours felt like days as you waited for the future to come, for destiny to take you in hand and do as it pleased with you.

As it turned out, you did not have to wait long.

The moment he stepped through the door, hood up and hands in the pockets of his coat, the static under your skin had turned into a painful burn. He was big, this man who hid his face from you, almost a foot taller than you and covered in thick muscle. A scar was visible on his jaw, dark stubble on his tan skin and shoulders slumped with an invisible weight. You had been getting ready to prepare dinner when he came in, fingers going to the thick scars on the inside of your arms, blunt nails scraping over them.

“You came for a fortune,” you said. It was not a question. That was the only thing people came to you for.

“I did. Word has it that you’re the best in town.” His voice was deep, rasping. A shiver went down your spine.

“I just do what I do,” you answered, voice soft. “Please, sit.”

You motioned to the table you’d set up in the tiny front room. Four plush chairs that you had reupholstered yourself sat around a large, circular table. The woven tablecloth had been given to you by the old fortune teller who had lived there before. Your decks sat in the middle, fading paper calling to your tingling fingertips. The man sat, hesitating for a moment before he pulled his hood down and you got a good look at his face.

He was handsome, severe. His jaw, his cheekbones, his nose were all at sharp angles. His black hair was marred by a thick streak of white in the front that hung in his face. But it was his eyes that you found the most alluring. The color of his irises was an iridescent, unnatural green. They seemed to glow in the poorly lit space, rising to meet your own. A muscle in his jaw ticked as his gaze flicked to your bad eye, the scarring there. But he looked away just as quickly, dropped his gaze to your fingers as they scratched over your skin.

“Would you like some tea?” you blurted.

Over a year of freedom, and you still found social interaction to be terrifying and confusing.

“Sure.” He looked amused, shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the chair next to him. “Appreciate it.”

Ducking your head, you could feel his gaze on you as you scurried into the kitchen. Your movements were mechanical as you shoved a mug of water into the microwave to heat up. Fingers itching, you followed the feeling to pull out a bag of jasmine tea, set it in the hot water to steep. It felt like ants were burrowing under your skin, but you refused to give in.

“You are not what they made you,” you whispered to yourself as you carried out the tea. “You are not what they made you.”

Keeping your eyes down, you set the mug down in front of the man. If he had heard you speaking to yourself, he didn’t show any sign of it. Instead, he remained quiet as you let your hand drift to your favorite deck. The old woman had gifted it to you, the first deck you ever had. The pictures were fading, small tears at the edges of each card. But it helped you channel the best, each reading clear and precise without any guesswork on your part. Spreading the cards out in front of you, you looked up to find him watching you.

“What do you wish to know?” you asked.

“I have a small… problem that I’m dealing with right now. How do I solve it?”

Purposely vague. Your heart sank. You’d had men and women like him in before, ones who wanted discretion but still expected accurate prophecy. When they came, they left disappointed. If they could not be honest with you, how could they expect destiny to be fully honest with them.

Much to your surprise, you found your fingers already drifting to the cards. A five-card spread, far too detailed for such vague wording. You turned them over, your suspicions confirmed.

_Death._

So, this was the man who had appeared in your dreams and your own readings.

_The Devil._

A card you had rarely pulled before. Already, you could feel the fortune sitting heavy on the back of your tongue.

_Eight of Wands._

Swift and decisive action. The burn under your skin dulled.

_King of Swords._

Ruthless, quick to render judgement. You trembled as you turned the last card.

_The Hanged Man._

Before you could stop it, the fortune was spilling from your lips, eyes closed.

“The enemy is swift in their actions, and already knows that you are aware of them. You must find them and render the ruthless judgement that they would have delivered to you. Prophecy will guide you, keep them from reclaiming what you took from them,” you breathed.

“Who is the enemy?” he asked, leaning forward.

Your hand drifted to The Devil, lifted the card to present it to him. You opened your eyes, the pressure rising once more and pressing against your bones.

“The Devil,” you whispered. “Surrounded by material pleasures, reveling in the dominance and subjugation of those around him. The pit…” A wave of pain lanced through you, teeth grinding. “Angel of the pit. Angel of enmity.”

Realization dawned on his face, but it did not stop the crawling under your skin. There was a prophecy that needed to be spoken, but the cards were not enough.

_You are no longer what they made you! You are no longer what they made you!_

You slammed the card down on the table, sweat beading on your temples. The man watched you, concern etched in his uncanny eyes. Each breath you took was trembling, heart beating a rapid rhythm against your ribs. Never before had you felt such pain, such urgency to spill prophecy. Meeting his eyes, you made a decision.

“I have a prophecy,” you whispered. “But it only spills forth with my blood, with pain. Are you willing to listen?”

Hesitance, discomfort. But you couldn’t wait. You laid your hand out before him, palm up.

“Your knife,” you said. “The first step on a journey waits for you. All I need is a blade, and it will be done.”

The man stared at you, stared at the thick scars that lined your arms.

_How many times had they bled you? How many times had they forced the prophecy from you and claimed it as divine? How many times had you thought pain was all you were meant to know?_

His hand was warm, large, calloused. The knife he pressed into your palm was small, a thin blade with a razor-sharp edge. Your smile was trembling, relieved. Fingers curling around the handle, you let the cold metal rest against the back of your hand. You looked back up at him, body trembling with need.

“When the blood spills,” you instructed him, “say these words: ‘Speak, Prophet, and I will listen.’ I cannot tell you what the prophecy will be, but I know it is urgent.”

He gave a short nod, winced as you sliced the skin. It wasn’t a deep cut, just enough to let blood well. Euphoria rushed through your veins, a soft gasp escaping your chapped lips.

“Speak, Prophet,” he said, voice close and deep and making you shudder, “and I will listen.”

As your blood spilled, so did the prophecy, terrible as it flowed from your tongue.

_“Icarus, Lazarus, prodigal son, impossible miracle. Twelve shadows track you, seeking to take back the life that death had claimed. The first is here, hunts you already. In darkness is his domain, his counsel to bring about wickedness and guilt. Angel of the pit, angel of emity. He smells the blood on your hands. Only the Hanged Man, the Hanged Woman, the Prophet can guide you to keep the gift of Lazarus from being reclaimed. Heed these words and let the path of blood guide you.”_

Twisting in the chair, your head rolled back, fingers clutching at the tablecloth, you moaned as the prophecy continued, molten on your tongue.

_“Belial, Belial, he sits in his ivory tower. Belial, Belial, he seeks the Lazarus. Belial, Belial, so dark and so cruel, he sends the Angel of Death. The Devil, The Devil! He sees both faces and plots your demise within the week. First of twelve cuts, first of the path. Blood spills and he sees from the shadows. O Lazarus, take up your sword and strike his head from his shoulders.”_

One last sigh escaped your lips before you regained control, breathing heavily. Your weak body was cradled in the man’s strong arms. At some point he must have gotten up to hold you, kept your thrashing limbs from hurting yourself. You blinked up at him, the knife forgotten on the table. There was a strange look in his eyes, his thumb smearing the blood on the back of your hand.

“What’s your name?” he asked, voice low.

“I don’t have one.” An honest answer. The old woman had tried to get you to choose one, but you had insisted on remaining nameless. Names had no use for someone like you.

_You are not what they made you. You chose this cut. You took control._

“We’ll work on that.” He helped you to your feet, kept his hands on your shoulders to steady you. “My name is Jason Todd.”

When you met his gaze, the smile he offered you was dark.

“I think you’re the answer to my problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [kicks down door] guess who's BACK on her Jason Todd BULLSHIT. it's me, and i bring you some good good dark fantasy/horror shit. i've always wanted DC to play around more with the supernatural elements around Jason and his resurrection. but they're cowards. so i'm gonna do it my own damn self.
> 
> i have made a moodboard for this fic, which you can find [Right Here!!](https://spidergwenn.tumblr.com/post/615171554674917376/fic-moodboard-red-sun-icarus-lazarus-prodigal)
> 
> reader/oc's powers are based on the cassandra sanguine from The Others book series written by Anne Bishop, but with a few tweaks and fixes because i don't want this character to be a dainty flower. (hint hint the prophecy is more fueled by pain than blood hint hint)
> 
> anyways, thank y'all for reading. i'll tag future updates with relevant warnings because..... there will be some potentially triggering stuff in here, fyi. also, probably slow updates, and i'm planning on each chapter to be more of a mini-fic revolving around the demon(s) in question and the hunt/killing/etc. 
> 
> love y'all!!


	2. Part One: The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: discussion of anxiety and traumatic flashbacks, description of abuse/torture, graphic violence

Sitting across from Jason Todd in a 24-hour café, you stared down at the omelet in front of you and tried very hard not to let him see just how overwhelmed you felt. The coffee next to your plate had a greasy surface, faint steam rising into the air. It was early enough that there were only a handful of people occupying the other booths, not counting the waitress and the line cook who you could hear singing a song in Spanish, faint but full of heart. The man across from you was digging into his own breakfast with a reckless abandon, your presence momentarily ignored as he shoved a whole sausage patty into his mouth. Poking at your own food with the slightly crooked tines of your fork, you wondered if you could force yourself to have an appetite.

Instead, you found your stomach twisting itself into knots. Being around more than one or two people at a time made you uncomfortable. As a child, you’d lived in forced solitude. As an adult, you craved the silence of being your only company. People were inconsistent. They didn’t follow patterns, liked to deviate and surprise. When you were around people, you never know what they would do.

The old fortune teller had told you that the feeling you had around other people was called anxiety. You decided that you hated it, but could find some way to live with it.

Setting down your fork, you picked up the coffee instead and flinched at the bitter taste of it. Jason pushed the little tin cup of creamer and a chipped plastic container of sugar and sweeteners towards you. When you looked up, his gaze met your own.

Knowing that he’d been watching you was a discomforting feeling.

With a mumbled ‘thank you,’ you dosed the cup with a bit of cream and a packet of Splenda. The spoon to the right of your plate was cool in your grip. You stirred clockwise ten times, counterclockwise another ten times, quietly satisfied. When you sipped again, the coffee was slightly more palatable. The bandage on your hand stretched and pulled at your skin with each movement. When you set down your mug, fingers curled around the warm porcelain, you realized that Jason had finished his food and was watching you with a guarded expression.

“So,” he said, taking a long sip of coffee.

You stared at him, fingers tightening around the mug.

“This all happened kind of fast, huh?” His smile was crooked, closed off and a poor attempt at being friendly. “I’d just been looking for a little help with a card reading, not a whole prophecy of doom.”

“Sorry,” you blurted.

An old habit, one you’d yet to rid yourself of. Apologies had lessened a lot of punishments.

“Hey, not your fault.” Jason shrugged. “You seem a little overwhelmed.”

“I’m… people are difficult,” you managed, lamely. “I don’t get out a lot.”

His short answering laugh was not unkind, but it made you curl further in on yourself, gaze dropping to your hands.

“No judgement,” he said. “Just making an observation, that’s all.”

“What do you want?” you blurted out. Yet again.

Maybe you should have just stayed home and let the man walk out of your life. Destiny was a determined bully, though. You were certain he would have walked right back in again no matter how hard you tried to live a quiet life.

“Right to the point.” Jason sighed, leaning forward, elbows on the table. It was a subtle shift, but you still felt overwhelmed at even the small change in proximity. “Look, for about a decade now, I’ve been seeing…things out of the corner of my eye. Stuff I can’t really explain, stuff I don’t understand. But the past couple weeks, it’s been getting worse. Not just glances, but things right there in front of me, there and gone in the blink of an eye. I have nightmares every time I try to sleep. And I swear something’s been following me.”

“Maybe you’re haunted,” you mumbled. “Lots of people are haunted.”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “Had someone take a look at my place, and they said it’s not ghosts or anything. And your prophecy pretty much confirmed that I’m dealing with something bigger.”

You knew. While you were in your prophetic haze, you had seen the things he described. You were used to seeing the unexplainable, seeing nightmarish things. But you didn’t want to get involved. You’d escaped from one nightmare, and you didn’t want to throw yourself into another.

“But what do you want from me?” you asked.

“You said it yourself.” He tipped his head to the side, regarding you with his strange eyes. “I need a prophet to guide me, and as far as I know, you’re the only one in the tristate area.”

That wasn’t true, but you weren’t going to correct him. No one needed to know about the others. No one needed to know about the Matron. Frowning, you gathered what little bravery you had to meet his eyes once again.

“I don’t work for free,” you said, half-hearted.

“Don’t expect you to.” The vicious curve to his smile had softened, somewhat. Not quite kind, but blessedly absent of pity. “I’ll pay you for your time. Whatever your usual rate is, you’ll get more.”

You didn’t really have a usual rate. People just paid you what they paid you. But you weren’t going to tell him that. You were pretty sure that the landlord was going to raise the rent again, and you were already having issues making ends meet.

“Do you know who Belial is?” you asked, pivoting the conversation.

“Kind of depends on what text you read,” Jason said with a yawn. “Dead Sea Scrolls call him the angel of darkness, but Milton made him more of a demon of vice—”

“That’s not what I mean,” you interrupted. Uncomfortable with the volume of your own voice, you softened it again once he’d quieted down. “I mean, do you know who he is here, in the city?”

“Got a couple of guesses from the clues you gave me.” He leaned forward a little more. “But you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll deal with the dangerous stuff. All you have to do is let me know when there’s something new that I need to know.”

Reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, he pulled out a slip of paper and passed it to you. You took it, flinching when your fingers brushed over his. Snatching your hand back, you let out a soft sigh before unfolding it and staring at the blocky numbers written in red ink. There was a prickling at your fingertips when you saw the color.

“Just give me a call or shoot a text if you see anything,” he said, “and I’ll be in touch. I’ll also drop off a payment for the reading later today.”

“Okay.” You felt distant from yourself, voice faint as you felt that gentle buzz bleed from the tips of your fingers and into your palms. “Okay…”

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

No, actually. But this man was a stranger, and he did not need to know that. So you kept quiet, slipped the paper into the pocket of your ratty second hand sweater and sighed when the buzz faded. When the waitress stopped by the table, asked if you wanted a box for your food, you nearly jumped out of your skin. Hand pressed over the rapid beat of your heart, you gave her a small nod as an answer, noticed the way her lips curved down when she glanced at your bad eye.

You were so tired of pity.

When she brought back a foam container for you, you tried to focus on the sound of the fork clinking against the plate. Jason simply watched you, quiet, until you were finished, utensils laid neatly on each side and your hands resting on the top of the container. After an awkward beat of silence, he pulled out his wallet and laid out several bills, enough to cover both meals and a tip. You frowned, started to argue, but he held up a hand.

“My treat,” he said. “I pretty much dragged you out here, so it’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” You winced at how forced it sounded.

“I’ll walk you back,” he offered, standing up and waiting for you to do the same.

You were slow, movements cautious as you slid out of the booth and cradled the leftovers close to your chest. Uncertain, you shifted your weight from one foot to the next before you spoke.

“I’m okay,” you said, not looking up at him. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“If you’re sure.” Jason looked hesitant, but thankfully didn’t push it.

The door chimed as you both walked out, cold air nipping at your skin. You shivered in your sweater, hoped you’d be able to find something warmer to wear in the thrift store. The days were getting colder, and you couldn’t keep bundling yourself in quilts when you went to check the mail or get groceries. Both of you hesitated just outside the door, and you could feel his eyes on you. When he began to step away, your hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist. Jason froze, eyes wide with surprise.

“Who are you?” you asked, words rushing off your tongue.

“Jason Todd,” he said, amused. “I told you earlier.”

“No.” You shook your head, looked back up at him. You weren’t sure why you’d asked, why you felt like you needed to know. You just did. “I mean… _who are you_?”

The amusement fell from his face, replaced by something that sent a cold chill down your spine. His eyes were cold, narrowed when they met yours. Your fingers slipped from his wrist as you took a small step back. Whatever illusions you’d had of safety shattered. In that moment, you were terrified of him.

Just as quickly as his expression had darkened, it disappeared. It was replaced by guilt, and you knew he saw the fear on your face. Jason Todd sighed, ran a hand over his face. He looked tired, weary. Taking another step back, he pulled his hood up and turned away from you.

“Be careful getting home, okay?” he said, voice barely audible.

Then he was gone, stride long and head dipped low as he walked away. You watched him until he turned a corner, vanished from your sight. Taking a deep breath, you pulled your sweater tighter around yourself and slowly made your way back home.

Putting up a small sign on the door to turn away clients, you locked up, pulled out every quilt and blanket you had, and bundled them around you on the couch. Still shivering, you closed your eyes and tried to focus on what the fortune teller had taught you.

_Focus on the good things._

White knuckle grip on the blankets, you thought of hot tea and fresh baked bread. You thought of worn paper under your fingers and grateful smiles. You thought of long naps and the sound of rain and thunder rumbling in the distance. You thought of the smell of fresh cut grass and petrichor. You grasped at these little things until the shivers stopped and you felt grounded again.

One day you would be able to function around groups of people. But today, apparently, was not that day. Still keeping one quilt draped around your shoulders, you placed the leftovers in your depressingly empty fridge. You needed to get groceries, but you didn’t want to have to go back out and be around people. You also didn’t want to think about your lack of money.

Mood thoroughly ruined, you shuffled into the tiny bedroom to curl up on the lumpy mattress and let sleep wash over you.

\---

_The leather straps around your wrists and ankles were tighter than usual, cutting into your skin. They’d added more restraints. One looped around your chest, another low around your hips. You whimpered, tried to raise your aching, fuzzy head. But a large hand pressed against your forehead, pushing you back down roughly. Your vision swam, cold sweat breaking out on your skin._

_“Why do you think you’re here, One-Two-Seven?” the Matron asked._

_You could not see her, but you could sense her. Close, too close._

_“Please,” you whimpered, tried to twist in your restraints. “I’m sorry…”_

_“That’s not an answer,” she said, voice cold, cold, cold._

_The hand lifted from your forehead. One of the Keepers, you thought. It was usually just you and the Matron in this room, no one else._

_She was going to make an example of you._

_“No, no, no,” you cried. “Please!”_

_“You lied about your prophecy,” the Matron said. “You purposely twisted the words and a soldier in our cause was lost.”_

_Of course you had lied. That soldier had been out to take a child, a girl like you. You weren’t going to let another child suffer they way you had. The child probably didn’t even have powers fueled by pain. But that wouldn’t have stopped the Matron. So, you had lied. Mid-prophetic ramble, you’d twisted the location by digging your nails hard enough into your palm to draw blood. The prophecies twisted together, a tangled mess, but seemed clear enough to send the soldier out._

_You’d heard that he was shot by police just moments before one of the Keepers dragged you from your room and drugged you to keep you weak._

_“I’m sorry, Matron,” you sobbed. “I’m sorry.”_

_“Apologies aren’t penitence enough,” she said. “There must be punishment.”_

_Sobbing, you felt her cold hands turn your head. When you looked up at her, The Matron’s face was alight with fury. The Keeper stepped up to the other side of you._

_When you heard him open the razor, you began to scream._

_“Gag her,” the Matron said. “Remember, Keeper, that being unable to speak the prophecies can be an effective punishment for the children. This one feels the pain much more when she’s unable to speak.”_

_The gag was shoved roughly into your mouth, the Matron still holding your head in place. The razor flashed in the light, your screams and sobs muffled._

_“Where should we make the cut, Matron?” the Keeper asked. You didn’t recognize the voice. He sounded young, likely a new recruit._

_“We’ll make several,” she said. “No need for precision. The left eye will be suitable for this.”_

_“May I ask why, Matron?” the Keeper asked._

_“The others need to see.” Through your blurred vision, you could see her cruel smile. “Continue the cuts until I tell you to stop. And make them deep.”_

_You thrashed and screamed, but their grip was strong against your weak attempts to free yourself. As the razor came down, your screams reached a fever pitch._

\---

You woke screaming, hands pressed over your bad eye and covered in a cold sweat. Chest heaving with panicked breaths, you shoved the blankets off of you, the press of them on your body stifling. Even your clothes were too much, irritating your sensitive skin. You threw them off, curled into a naked, shivering ball until you could finally breathe evenly. Your scars still burned, old wounds that seemed to reopen with every nightmare you had.

“You’re free,” you whispered to the empty room. “You’re free, you’re free.”

But in the aftermath of nightmares, of old memories showing up to haunt you, it was hard to believe that what you had was freedom.

Once the shudders had died down, you slid out of bed. On your way to the bathroom, you paused in front of the full-length mirror that had been installed on the closet door. You winced when you saw your reflection: painfully thin, washed-out tint to your skin, thick scars twisting across your arms, your ribs, your thighs, your stomach. Looking away, you resolved to tack a blanket over the mirror before shuffling into the bathroom. You washed away the sweat, tried to let the cold water soothe the burning of your skin.

The only thing it succeeded in doing was making you shiver again. With your skin still sensitive, you didn’t pull clothes on. You just wrapped yourself up in blankets, shuffled into your tiny little living room. You stared at the ratty old furniture, the old needlepoint that the fortune teller had decorated the walls with, the dusty lamps and smell of old herbs. Colorful blankets and scarves covered the windows, threw shadows on the room.

Was this how most of the people in this city lived? From one paycheck to the next, trying to convince themselves that one day they were going to make it big, that it was all going to pay off. Surrounded by reminders of their poverty. Not that you could complain. The space was still cozy, gave you an excuse not to make friends or connections and keep to yourself.

But you knew most people wouldn’t be happy with what you had. They craved more, bigger, better. Maybe you were just broken, but you were fine. As long as you were free, as long as you were safe, you couldn’t ask for more. An unfamiliar shape next to the front door caught your attention. You froze, let your eyes adjust to the darkness.

It was a manila envelope. Likely slipped in the gap under your door, the one you’d yet to cover with a towel or a blanket to keep the cold out. Adjusting your grip on the blankets, you knelt down, brushed your fingers over it. When you didn’t feel any warning buzz under your skin, you picked it up and opened it.

There was cash inside. Jason Todd’s payment. You pulled it all out, counted it. Then you counted it again, and again, and again. Staring at the crisp bills in shock, you ran the math and realized that it was enough for two months rent and groceries.

Slowly picking it all up and tucking it away in the lockbox under your couch, you found yourself wondering, once more, who the hell Jason Todd was.

\---

Jason Todd sat in an upscale bar in Gotham’s Diamond District and wondered what the hell his life had come to.

A decade ago, he never would have thought that he would be watching the shadows anxiously, pretending that the drink in front of him was alcohol when it was really just ginger ale with a lemon wedge garnish. A decade ago, he would have seen himself working in a garage, maybe looking the other way when people decided to use the business for something a little shady.

Now, here he was, trying not to vomit when he overheard yet another trust fund kid flex his Rolex in an attempt to get a pretty girl to go home with him.

He’d purposely worn his rattiest leather jacket, tried to give off ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes so he could do his reconnaissance and get the fuck out without having people approach him. A couple of drunk girls had almost gotten enough liquid courage to try to hit on him, but their friends had been sensible and sober enough to turn their attention to the stockbrokers and investment bankers instead. Taking a sip of his ginger ale, he let his attention roam back towards the private rooms at the back of the building. A small group had entered about an hour before, a guard posted up outside the door.

Not necessarily uncommon for this part of town, or for this particular bar. Drug lords and kingpins loved to mingle with bankers and lawyers, after all. This was where they could hook them, get dirt on them if they might prove a bit more resistant once they sobered up. It was always easy to tell the killers from the dirt bags. It was all in the eyes. A morally bankrupt rich guy still had something there. But killers, hardened criminals? There was nothing. Just a cold, hard lack of soul.

The door opened and Jason turned his head away just enough so that the casual observer wouldn’t know he was watching. He watched the men file out from the corner of his eye, counted each one. Their shadows seemed to twist as they passed by, his fingers tightening around the glass. Instinctively, he knew they were bad news. Instincts that he hadn’t had before, ones that had only shown up after he’d surfaced from the Lazarus Pit, screaming.

But he didn’t have time to unpack that. He counted again as they passed him, one by one, to leave. Then he realized, with a slow, dawning horror, that they were short one. Eight men had gone into that room, but seven had left. Jason turned his attention to the waitress who had gone in, leaned back just enough on his bar stool to see further into the room.

Empty, other than her. Eight glasses for her to pick up.

_Blood spills and he sees from the shadows._

Slapping down enough money on the bar to cover his drinks and a significant tip, Jason dashed out the door and hopped onto his motorcycle.

If one of those shadow men was missing, the girl was in danger.

\---

Splurging was an utterly alien concept to you. For the time that you’d been free, lived by yourself after the old fortune teller left, you’d only paid for bare necessities. You ate a maximum of two meals a day, didn’t eat out unless you were unable to go to the 24 hour corner store just down the street, and only bought clothes when you needed them from the thrift store.

Buying your new coat wasn’t necessarily odd, or new. You’d had the money, it was a necessity. But stopping at a grocery store just a bit farther down the street to get ingredients for baking? In your mind, that was a splurge. You didn’t need to make muffins or rolls. But you enjoyed baking, and after the day you’d had, you needed something that made you happy. It had still been cheap, and with the payment Jason Todd had given you, you had more than enough money for it. In fact, you could have gone to a department store and gotten an entirely new coat and still had enough money to live off of for a month.

When you got home, you’d had a spring in your step. A bit of excitement, something that made you feel just a little more alive. You’d even pulled out some of the vinyl records and the record player that the fortune teller had left behind, let them play quietly while you baked. The sign was still on the door, and you basked in the freedom. No buzzing under your skin, no strangers slipping into your apartment for readings. Just you and your baking and the soft crooning of Ella Fitzgerald. You even hummed along, finding comfort in the rhythm of kneading the dough for your rolls, chopping up strawberries for the muffins.

The smell of fresh baked goods filled the little apartment, another small joy for you to tuck away in your mind. As they baked, you flipped through one of the paperbacks that you had picked up a few months back during a brown bag sale. A romance, such a strange genre to you. You’d picked up several of them, hypnotized by the highly posed eroticism of the covers. They were fascinating, these books. So full of drama, set during the past and the present, men always dashing and brave and women not always the same. Some were brave and courageous, some were pliant and obedient, some were difficult and angry. But you loved all of them, loved reading these little books so full of unbelievable and fantastic scenarios.

You even ate a little bit of the leftovers, picked at the omelet and ate a few bites before your stomach revolted and you had to put it away. But you considered it a victory. Everything you baked went into the containers that you had dug out, once they’d cooled. Maybe you would eat some of it. But, more realistically, you would offer them to your customers, the people who came for readings. A cup of herbal tea and home baked goods, a combination that you had learned could offer people comfort.

Once everything had been cleaned and put away, the apartment back in its proper place, you had curled up in an armchair, blanket over your lap. You just wanted to forget, wanted this moment of bliss and normalcy to last as long as it could. Reading a paperback romance, drinking chamomile tea, forgetting all about the mysterious man who had paid you a ridiculous sum of money and the nightmares that lurked at the edges of your mind.

Just as you were beginning to relax, the buzzing under your skin started. You stiffened, grip on the book tightening as the feeling grew stronger and stronger. A feeling of dread creeped up on you, the warmth you’d felt quickly replaced by ice cold fear. There was a soft, muted sound from your blind spot and alarms went off in your head. Shoving the blanket off and tossing the book away, you sprinted into the bedroom. The sound was getting louder, something between a cracking noise and the rustling of dry skin against hardwood. Heart in your throat, you stuffed yourself into the closet.

The sound grew louder, until there was a loud crack that echoed through the apartment, not dissimilar to thunder. You had angled yourself so that your good eye could see through the small crack of the closet door. Knees to your chest, you held your breath. Something was moving out in the living room. You could hear it, movements heavy. Furniture was shifted and tipped over, each loud crash making you flinch and press your hand tighter and tighter over your mouth. The heavy movements came closer, moving past the kitchen and into your bedroom.

Could the thing just a few feet away from you hear your terrified, racing heart? Could it smell your fear? Could it hear your shallow, panicked breaths? Your skin was on fire, scars burning as if they had turned molten on your skin. A whimper was caught in your throat as a large, lumbering shadow moved closer and closer to the closet. You knew, somewhere deep inside of you, that whatever had slid from the shadows was not a thing to be looked upon by human eyes. If it found you, if it got you, there would be no trace of you left in this world.

You thought of the fresh smell of bread still hanging in the apartment, of yellowing paper between your fingers as you turned pages in a novel. You thought of unearthly green eyes and an understanding in them that had been so fleeting you hadn’t picked up on it until it was too late.

Slithering, shadowy fingers slowly wound their way into the closest and curled around the door. Warm tears spilled down your cheeks, dread cold and heavy in your chest. Slowly, so dreadfully slowly, that dark hand began to pry the door open. You could smell it, smell phosphorus and blood and death. You tried to curl closer in on yourself, trembling.

Would your death be slow and painful? Or would it be quick and painless?

You stared at that terrible hand, the way the shadows twisted and shifted around it. Then your front door crashed open and, suddenly, it was gone. Curling in closer, closer, knees hard against your chest, you strained to listen, to hear. There was a low curse, door slamming shut. Then a roar, one that shook the walls, shook you to your bones. You squeezed your eyes shut, made yourself as small as you could. You heard the muted sounds of a silenced firearm, one, two, three, four, five times. So many shots, so quiet in the chaos. Then… silence. Terrible and suffocating.

Quiet footfalls emerged from it, searching each small room until the closet door opened wide. Shaking, you slowly opened your eyes and found Jason Todd staring back at you, relief flooding his face.

“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.

No. You were so far from okay, it was almost hilarious. But you were unharmed. So, you gave a small nod, sniffled and let out a choked sob. It took a while for him to coax you out of the closet, for you to stop shaking long enough to stand. The burning in your scars had faded to a distant ache. When he held a hand out, you took it, let him guide you out and into your little bedroom. Thankfully, that room hadn’t been destroyed. Your living room, however, was a different story. The couch had been shoved to the side, the armchair and table you used for your readings flipped, cards scattered over the floor. But the worst thing was the blood slowly, terribly slowly, pooling on the floor.

“What do you see?” Jason asked.

It took very little time for you to realize that he was talking about the body lying in front of you. The smell had gotten worse, and you had to take a step back to keep from vomiting. You took a deep breath, tried desperately to keep your voice even.

“I…” Your voice caught. Clearing your throat, you shook your head before looking back down at the body. “I see… he has too many eyes. His limbs are too long. And… and his blood, it’s not the right color. It smells like phosphorus. The fingers… they’re so long. Too long. Everything is just… not right.”

“Okay.” Jason let out a soft sigh. Then you felt his hand on your shoulder, guiding you back and away. Your limited line of sight was on him, only him. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going crazy.”

Realization dawned on you, sudden and terrible. You looked up at him, tried to keep your fingers from shaking even more than they already were.

“They came after me,” you whispered.

“Yeah.” To his credit, Jason looked terribly apologetic. His broad shoulders slumped, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Yeah, they did.”

Whatever gun he’d shot the thing on your living room floor with had been tucked away where you couldn’t see it. But you could smell the gunpowder, too. No one in the complex would say anything. Not even with that terrible roar. People in this part of Gotham didn’t snitch. When you heard something, you just put a pillow over your head and pretended that whatever you heard was just a bad dream. For all the time you had lived in this neighborhood, this was the first time you’d ever really, truly been afraid in your own home.

“You killed it,” you murmured.

“Yeah,” Jason said with a dark laugh. “I’m pretty good at killing things.”

“How did you know it would be here?” you asked.

There was a pause. You watched him closely, although your one good eye was still swimming with tears. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he looked at you.

“Your prophecy,” he said quietly. “You said that the thing hunting me knew about spilled blood. I was watching some… people. When one of them didn’t come out of the room I was watching, I realized they knew about you.”

“Oh,” you said.

Oh, indeed. Destiny had a plan for you, and it apparently included the man who had killed a monster for you.

The man who had just saved your life. You were in a daze, yet again. Jason guided you to the crooked couch, eased you down until you were sitting.

“I’ll take care of this,” he told you, knelt in front of you. “Just… breathe, yeah?”

Easier said than done. Once again, you were freaking out. Hugging your knees to your chest, you watched with wide eyes as he hauled the freakish body over his shoulder, opened the window, and tossed it out into the alley. It landed with a dull, wet thud that you were sure would be echoing in your head for weeks.

“You got blood on the rug,” you mumbled.

“Bit of baking soda and some scrubbing will get it out,” Jason said, not skipping a beat. “You’re shaking.”

“I think I’m in shock,” you replied.

“You’re definitely in shock,” he agreed.

Taking off his gloves (how had you not noticed he was wearing gloves?), Jason let out a heavy sigh and surveyed the damage. You just tried to take deep, even breaths and not focus on how you had almost been killed. You focused on the soft sounds of Jason digging through your cupboards, on the way he studiously and carefully cleaned the blood from the floorboards, picked up the bullet casings and slipped them into his pocket.

“They’re going to keep coming after me, aren’t they?” you asked, voice quiet.

“Yeah.” Jason looked up at you, tossing the last blood-soaked paper towel into the trash. “They are.”

You fell silent again, stared down at your hands. Your fingers were still shaking, a gentle tremor that you couldn’t stop. The burning of your scars had been replaced by cold, a numbness that seemed to reach even your rapidly beating heart. You flexed your fingers, ignored the stretch against the scab on the back of your hand, stared at the jagged scar on your left palm. Which prophecy had that been for? Whose death had you seen?

“Hey.” While you were spacing out, Jason had dragged over the end table to sit down in front of you. “I’m sorry I dragged you into all this. I was hoping…” He paused, ran a hand over his face. “I was hoping you’d stay out of the line of fire.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. But you also knew that it wasn’t really his fault. He’d come for help, not to drag someone else into his problems. “What happens now?”

“Kind of depends on what you want to do.” He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “Right now, I don’t think it’s safe for you to be alone. They might send something after you again. You could move to a different location for the time being. Just until I get this guy sorted out. Or I could set up protection for you.”

“I don’t want to move,” you said. The apartment was the only real piece of stability you had. Plus, how were people supposed to find you for readings if you weren’t there. “What kind of protection are we talking about?”

Jason grinned, gave your knee a gentle pat.

“I know a guy.”

\---

The guy, as it turned out, was a dog.

Jason Todd had spent the night sleeping on your couch after helping you straighten up, but had been gone when you woke up. You’d been eating the last bits of your leftovers when he returned, a German shepherd padding along behind him.

“Oh,” you said.

“His name is Schnitzel, and he’s a very good boy,” Jason told you, looking awfully proud of himself. He set down the bags he’d carried in. “Hold out your hand.”

Confused, it took you a moment before you obeyed. He turned to the dog.

“Shake,” he said.

Trotting over, the dog sat in front of you before placing a paw on your hand. A bit stunned, you gave it a small shake before you released his paw and stared up at Jason.

“He’s still pretty young,” Jason told you. “Technically still a puppy, but his first birthday’s just a month away. I’ve had him for most of his life and he’s well trained. Take him for a few walks every day and he’ll be happy. I brought his food, harness, and leash, along with some toys.”

That feeling of being overwhelmed? It was back with a vengeance. You just stared up at him, truly speechless. Jason just continued to take things out of the bag, setting up two bowls and filling one with water from a bottle. The dog wagged his tail, sitting obediently still.

“I’ve never… um, I’ve never had a dog before,” you finally said.

“It’ll just be a few days,” Jason told you, finally turning back to you. “If you have any questions, you’ve got my number. Schnitzel will keep an eye on you, and if something does happen, just call and I’ll be here as soon as I can.”

Still uncertain, you held out your hand to the dog. Tail still wagging, he sniffed at your fingers before nudging his snout into your palm, startling you. You gave him a small pat to the top of his head, letting out a little yelp when he jumped up onto the couch next to you and settled down to put his head in your lap. Jason laughed, coming over to scratch Schnitzel behind the ear.

“See? He already likes you. Dogs are a pretty good judge of character.” He winked, a strange gesture that had you staring up at him. He coughed, then, motioning to the container of dog food on your kitchen counter. “So, uh… just feed him twice a day. Once in the morning, once at night. There’s a scoop in there for the right amount of food.”

“Okay.”

After a beat of awkward silence, Jason began to turn away. You weren’t sure why, but you surged up from the couch and grabbed his sleeve. The surprise on his face matched your own, and you let go of him almost as quickly as you’d grabbed him.

“Um… wait.” You held up a hand, then shuffled into the kitchen.

Pulling out one of the containers of muffins, you counted three of them out before returning to the living room. Grabbing his bag, you stuffed the baked goods inside before handing it to him. You couldn’t look him in the face, found yourself staring down at your feet instead.

“I made some muffins last night,” you mumbled. “Strawberry. Can’t eat them all myself, so… yeah.”

“Thank you.” Jason laid a hand on your shoulder. When you looked up, his sharp face had softened, somewhat. “I appreciate it.”

“I…” You shook your head, embarrassment overwhelming you. “It’s no problem. Um, thank you. For, you know.”

“Just want to make sure you’re safe,” he said. “No reason to thank me for it. And if you need anything, I’m just a text away.”

With a small nod, you took a step back. His hand fell from your shoulder and, after one last pat to Schnitzel, the door closed behind him. Casting a glance at the dog, who gave you a little wag of his tail, you sighed.

“Well,” you said, both to yourself and Schnitzel, “I guess you’re stuck with me, then.”

Schnitzel only let out a soft ‘woof’.

\---

The rest of the day went by as close to normal as it could. You’d had to roll up the rug and hide it in case any of your clients saw the blood, and Schnitzel had taken to laying on your feet when you gave readings.

But otherwise, it was like any other day. The normalcy probably should have comforted you, but instead, it set you more on edge.

When you’d taken Schnitzel out for his walks, you’d worn an old hooded sweater under your new coat, hood up to hide your face. Just in case, of course. As the sun set, the shadows seemed longer than usual. Was there anything inside of them, hiding and watching you? Would they move against you again that night? Or had they focused their attention on Jason again? Schnitzel seemed calm enough as you walked back to your apartment, but it did nothing to soothe your own anxiety.

As it turned out, it only took one attack for all the paranoia you’d felt immediately after your freedom to come rushing back in. But this time, you didn’t have the old fortune teller to tell you to sit down and shut up and have some tea. You only had yourself, your terrible coping mechanisms, and a guard dog who didn’t even belong to you.

After a few seconds of overthinking, you gave Schnitzel’s leash a small tug and led him down the street towards the grocery store. It wasn’t too late yet, so it would still be open. You’d had more clients than you’d expected so far, and you’d been able to get rid of all your muffins and rolls. Some baking might calm you down, help distract you from the creeping violent death that seemed to lurk at every corner.

Just a block away, Schnitzel suddenly came to a stop. You stared down at him, frowned as his ears twitched and he stared into a darkened alley. A telltale prickle began across your skin, hair at the back of your neck standing up as the dog let out a low warning growl. Frozen to the spot, your grip on the leash tightened as glowing eyes appeared in the darkness. Not just one pair, but many. You took a shaking step back, but the dog refused to move. Schnitzel let out a loud bark and you flinched, glancing down the sidewalk to see if there was anyone nearby.

You turned your blind side to the alley. Whatever was there took its chance.

You didn’t even have time to scream before the darkness enveloped you and your consciousness sputtered out.

\---

Much to your surprise, you woke up.

Someone had put you in a comfortable chair, the massive room you were in well lit. You weren’t tied up, or gagged, or blindfolded. The leash was still tied loosely around your hand and wrist, but Schnitzel was asleep at your feet. A muzzle had been placed on him, and he didn’t seem at all hurt. Just sleeping deeply.

A mug of tea had been left on a table next to your chair, but you didn’t trust it. Drawing your knees up, you curled in on yourself as you took in the room. The carpet was a deep red, thick and plush. There were several other lavish armchairs like the one you sat in, a desk, and a mini bar. The artwork on the walls sent a chill down your spine.

All of them depicted demonic scenes, some dark and bloody, some bright with hellfire.

You slipped your hand into the pocket of your coat, relieved to feel your phone was still there. You weren’t sure if whoever had taken you simply hadn’t checked for it, or if they had purposely let you have it. Either way, you didn’t care. There was only one non-business contact, and you immediately shot Jason a text.

_got taken somewhere, don’t know where. very rich looking, no windows in room. schnitzel is ok. i’m not hurt._

Almost immediately, you got a text back.

_Call me. Put the call on speaker, but mute it so that no one can hear my end of the conversation. Put the phone in your pocket. I’ll be on my way._

What in the world did this man do that he could just drop everything and sweep in to save you at the drop of a hat? You were thankful, of course, but your curiosity was starting to drive you up the wall. If you got out of this situation, maybe you would try to ask him again. You followed his instructions, locking your phone before you put it back in your pocket and stood up.

When was someone (or something) going to come check on you? Were they watching you right now? You began to pace, hands rubbing heavy over your coat in a lame attempt to soothe the itching of your scars. Schnitzel continued to sleep and you continued to pace.

“Good to see you’re awake.”

You screamed when you heard the voice, whirling around and staring with wide eyes at the man who had appeared out of thin air. He wasn’t particularly tall, standing more at an average height, with an unimposing frame. His hair was a mousy brown, skin pale, face just as close to average as you could have imagined. The suit he wore, however, was made of a dark, expensive silk. And when you looked him in the eye, you found a dark and terrible knowledge there that was utterly alien.

“Who… where…” You backed away from him, failed utterly to hide your fear.

“You’re a smart girl.” He smiled, baring his teeth. The canines were too long. As he approached you, his face seemed to shift. Less average, less friendly. Darker, growing bigger with each step until he was towering over you. “I think you can figure it out.”

“Belial,” you whispered.

“Bingo.” He winked, pulled his hands from his pockets. Just like the thing that had attacked you, his fingers were too long, alien in their proportion. “I would have had this conversation with you earlier, but the guy I sent for you has gone suddenly and mysteriously missing.”

You did not respond. Instead, you remained quiet.

“Look, it’s not in my best interests to kill you,” Belial said. His face flickered for a moment, and you found your feet rooted to the ground, unable to move. “Quite the opposite, actually. Powers like yours, they’re rare. Valuable. You’ve just put yourself on the wrong side here.”

“Why?” you blurted.

“Why what?”

“Why am I on the wrong side?” you asked.

Belial looked taken aback for a moment. Then he laughed, a terrible, rumbling sound that shook you to the bone. But you still couldn’t move. Likely his doing.

“You seriously don’t know?” he laughed. “This guy just threw you into a situation with demons and gods and didn’t bother to tell you why we’re hunting him down? Seriously?”

“I didn’t ask,” you mumbled.

“Well, I’ll tell you.” Belial stepped closer. Just like the thing that Jason had killed, he smelled of blood and death and something distinctly inhuman. “Jason Todd died a decade ago. Death staked its claim on him and had plans on where to place him. But then he went and came back to life through the worst means possible. His life is forfeit because he’s not supposed to be living it. Every breath he takes is unnatural and goes against the order of things. It took him this long to even notice we were here, but he’s a difficult man to take down. We’ve had to escalate from men to things that are not men. But you throw a much bigger wrench in the plan.”

“Because I know what you want to do before you do it,” you whispered.

“Precisely.” Belial grinned, leaned closer to you. “Last we’d heard of, there weren’t any rogue prophets in this city. Apparently, Todd has better intel when it comes to being close to the ground. Or maybe he just lucked out. But having you here does two things for me. The first is that if you’re here, you can’t be a threat out there. The second is that Todd is going to want to keep you out of our hands. And, judging by the way he acts out on the street, he’ll be here guns blazing any second now.”

“You don’t know that,” you said.

Belial snorted.

“Please,” he scoffed. “Men like him are all the same. They see a pretty, damaged thing like you and all sense goes out the window. It’s a knight complex. I’ve seen it a million times before, I’ll see it a million times again.”

“I think you’re wrong,” you said.

Belial merely raised an eyebrow, waited for you to continue.

“People are more complicated than you think. I’m not a damsel in distress. He’s not a knight in shining armor. And you’re not a dragon that needs to be slain.” The words spilled out before you could stop them, an odd courage that you hadn’t felt before. “You’re just a monster. And monsters like you never win in the end.”

“Ah, a very brave speech.” Belial chuckled again, amused. “But monsters like me have been running this world, and this city specifically, from the moment their existence began. We’ve been winning, and we will continue to win.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. The being in front of you, face bent close to yours, was more powerful than you could even imagine. The closer he got, breath washing over your face, the more your scars burned. You had to look away, courage withering under that ancient gaze. Fingers grazed over the scar on your eye and you flinched away, back slamming against the desk.

“Get the dog and come with me,” he said.

Before you were aware of your movements, you were sliding away from him, feet obedient. Schnitzel was finally awake, whined as you picked up the leash and urged him to come with you. Belial led you out of the room, down a hall. When he stepped into what appeared to be an office lined with windows, you felt just a little bit of hope return to you.

That hope then vanished when you realized how far up you were.

You stopped abruptly, still struggling for control of your own limbs. Schnitzel continued to whine, pressing against you and keeping a watchful eye on the demon in front of you. You’d stopped with your back to the window. The demon sat down in front of you. He was still so tall that his face came even with yours.

“Now,” he said. “Why don’t you give me a little taste of what you can do?”

You stayed stubbornly silent, glaring down at him.

“No?” Belial sighed. “Okay. See, I wanted to make this easy on you. But we can do this the hard way, too.”

His face distorted, the human mask slipping and becoming nightmarish. Then you felt a sharp pain in your bad eye that steadily grew worse and worse. You clutched at your eye, shaking as you realized the skin was wet with blood.

Belial was opening up your old scars.

“Tell me what you see,” he said, terrible face bright with glee.

“ _Death!”_ you screamed.

That was all you could see. Death. Blood smeared on the floors, the desk, chunks of brain and skull laying in piles of gore. Distantly, you heard Schnitzel’s angry growls, a tugging at the leash wrapped around your wrist. You brought both hands up to your eye, the pain getting worse and worse. Blood slowly began to seep from between your fingers.

“Tell me,” Belial growled.

But all you could scream was “Death”, over and over again. The pain began to fade, but the wounds were still open as you tried to catch your breath. Belial stood, opened his mouth to say something.

Then the back of his head exploded.

You stared at the tiny hole in his forehead, the blood that oozed from it despite the carnage that had erupted from the back of his skull. Another scream built in your throat as you stumbled back and away, back hitting the glass and knees giving out as Belial’s body fell heavily to the ground. Schnitzel whined, butted his head against your shoulder. You pulled your hands away from your eye, unsnapped the muzzle from around his snout with shaking fingers. Just as the dog had clambered into your lap, trying to lick at your face, the glass next to you shattered.

Too worn out to even scream, you curled yourself around the dog, shielded him as best you could from whatever had come through the window. But he wiggled out of your arms, making no move to bark or attack. Terrified, you slowly looked up.

_A man whose face was red static._

The man who had come crashing through the window wore a red helmet. You vaguely recalled rumors of a vigilante with that description. Schnitzel carefully navigated through broken glass to greet the man. He reached up and took off the helmet, and fear slowly bled away to be replaced by relief.

“Jason,” you breathed.

Jason Todd adjusted the rifle on his back, boots crunching over broken glass as he approached you. Crouching, he shoved a hand into one of the inside pockets of the jacket he was wearing and pulled out a bandage. You flinched as he reached for you. He paused, brow furrowing. But when you didn’t move, didn’t lash out or cry, he moved forward to gently press the bandage over the open wounds.

“You hurt anywhere else?” he asked, voice gruff.

You shook your head, accepted Schnitzel back into your lap. Satisfied with your answer, he stood and approached the body. When he pulled a large combat knife from his boot, you looked away, pressed your aching face into Schnitzel’s fur.

_Take up your sword and strikes his head from his shoulders._

The sound of the blade sawing through the neck was terrible, wet and visceral. You sank your fingers into Schnitzel’s fur, tried to focus on his distressed panting. The job was done, mercifully, quick. You slowly lifted your head when you heard Jason sigh. His black leather gloves dripped blood, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. There was an apologetic tilt to the awkward smile he gave you.

“Just wanted to cover all my bases,” he said. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” A lie. It was not okay. But you refused to cry. “How’d you find this place?”

“Traced the call,” he said. “Scoped the place out, saw when both of you moved to this room. And I waited for the right moment to take the shot.”

The way he said it made it sound so simple, like it was nothing at all. You thought about what Belial had said. And you realized that there was much, much more to the man hiding just beneath the surface.

“Was it true?” you asked. Watched him stiffen up at the words, eyes narrowed. “What he said, about you?”

Jason Todd was very quiet for a moment. Then he gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I think we should talk about it somewhere else.”

“Okay.”

Letting the dog clamber off your lap, Jason helped you to your feet and pulled a grappling gun from his belt. You paled, scared at the prospect of being so high up. Jason swung the dog over to the nearest building first, then came back for you. Your hands shook as he guided them around his neck, one arm hooked firmly around your waist. Pulling you tight against him, he murmured in your ear for you to hold tight.

Then you were swinging out, the yawning void of the street so far beneath you. Face buried in his neck, you held onto him as tight as you could, stomach flipping in an odd mix of fear and excitement. As soon as you had swung out over the void, you were landing on the opposite rooftop. Still shaking, you pried your fingers loose from around Jason’s neck, took deep, even breaths. Schnitzel pressed his cold, wet nose against your hand and you tangled your fingers in his thick, warm fur.

“Let’s get you home,” Jason said, putting the helmet back on. It distorted his voice, made a shiver go down your spine. “Then we can talk about the things we’re hiding from each other.”

There was a movement from the corner of your eye. But when you turned your head, you saw nothing there. Skin prickling, you followed Jason down the fire escape and loaded yourself and the dog into his car.

That terrible sense of danger still hung over you, the feeling of being watched.

_You are not what they made you._

When you got home, it would be time to make a new cut for a new prophecy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew. this chapter was a bit of a beast for me, and subsequent chapters are gonna be longer. thank you all so much for the sweet comments you've left so far! i hope you stick around for the rest of the ride.
> 
> thanks for reading! love y'all, stay safe.


	3. Part Two: The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: body horror, dehumanization, trauma mention, references to abuse, self-mutilation

Clutching a mug of chamomile tea in your trembling fingers, you tried to remind yourself that you were present in the moment. You were there, sitting in your armchair. And Jason Todd was also there, sipping at his own mug of tea on your couch as if he hadn’t just sliced through a demon’s neck with a knife. Schnitzel was curled up at your feet, sleeping peacefully. You were tempted to pinch yourself, just to make sure that the whole situation was actually happening, but didn’t want to risk blurting out a glimpse into the future.

So, you sipped your tea and tried not to slip into a dissociative state.

“You wanna go first,” Jason said, “or should I?”

How was he so casual? You could still see blood on the sleeves of his shirt, but from the way he was acting, you’d think he’d just come home from a nice evening walk. Maybe you were just overreacting. After all, you’d seen worse things in the compound. You’d seen things that had kept you up for days on end, seen horrors beyond human comprehension that made you lose entire days, holes punched in your memory. Seeing a demon get his brains blown out and his head cut off was pretty low on the list of disturbing things you’d been subjected to.

But those had been visions. You hadn’t been physically present for them, although they’d felt just as real. Just enough of a comfortable distance to keep you from going completely insane.

Jason cleared his throat, an eyebrow arched. Face flushing, you realized you’d spaced out instead of answering him.

“Um,” you mumbled, clutching your mug to your chest. “I think you should go first.”

Not just because you were shy, of course. And it wasn’t because you were suspicious. Although you had every reason to be, your gut told you that he didn’t have any darker motives. He could have shot Belial through you and gotten it over with, but he had waited to make sure that you weren’t in the line of fire.

No, you wanted him to go first because you still weren’t certain how the hell you were even going to begin to tell him your own little story.

“I can do that.” Jason heaved a weary sigh, setting down his tea and leaning forward to run a hand through his messy hair. “You recognized the helmet, right?”

You nodded. The Red Hood. It was mostly whispered, and you’d never really connected the name with your own fuzzy dreams and visions.

“Like the demon said, I died ten years ago,” he said with a shrug.

Like it was nothing. Like dying was like having a cold. You curled in on yourself, fingers aching from how tightly you clutched the warm ceramic mug.

“But how did you come back?” you asked, voice timid, unsure.

Jason’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. It was such a small movement, but managed to convey his emotions perfectly. When he spoke, his eyes were on the ground, fingers weaving together.

“A woman interested in my adoptive father stole my body,” he told you through clenched teeth. “And she put me into something called the Lazarus Pit. It has the power to bring back the dead and restore youth to the living.”

There was… a lot to unpack there. Why had someone stolen his body? Why did that woman think that resurrecting him would gain his father’s affections? Why had you never heard of this Lazarus Pit before? How did it even work?

More questions than answers. You suspected that was going to be common for however long you were dealing with him.

“But why wait so long to put effort into taking your soul?” you asked.

“Who fuckin’ knows?” Jason said with another shrug. “Maybe Hell’s got its own form of bureaucratic nonsense going on.”

“Maybe they just underestimated you,” you suggested. “Sent low-level guys after you and then just decided to take care of it themselves.”

“Mm, more likely,” he agreed. “Any other questions for me?”

Oh, so many questions. Why had he sought you out? What were his plans for you going forward? But you could see the tension in his face and decided that you could always ask later. Once he was more comfortable with you and less likely to omit details or flat-out lie.

“Not right now,” you said, shaking your head. “I, um… I guess it’s my turn, then.”

Where were you even supposed to start? How much could you leave out so that he didn’t get dragged into the world you’d so desperately tried to escape? You took a deep breath, bringing your legs up to hug your knees to your chest.

“I grew up in a… um, a religious compound of sorts. The people who raised me there were an offshoot of another sect and believed that the power to see the future, being a prophet…” You hesitated, scars itching. “They believed that the powers came from divine blood. That me, the other kids there, we were all descendants of Nephilim. We each had different ways of seeing the future, though. Me, um. I speak prophecy when I’m in pain, not necessarily when I’m cut. But the… the woman who ran the place, she thought it had a greater divine meaning for blood to spill when I spoke prophecy. But some of the others there had different triggers, like falling into REM cycle or self-mutilation or orgasm.”

Jason quirked an eyebrow at the last one, and you stumbled over yourself to move past the awkward factoid.

“When I… um, found a way out, I moved to Gotham since it’s easier to disappear among so many people,” you blurted. “I found someone with powers similar to mine and she taught me how to use cards and palm lines and tea leaves to relieve the prophecy itch instead of resorting to pain. But sometimes it just… it just needs to come out in more than just little flashes of information, you know?”

“That’s where all the scars are from, then,” he said.

“Yeah.” You shifted, tugging at the sleeves of your sweater to cover the scars on your hands and wrists. “I wasn’t allowed to self-inflict. Every injury was very carefully controlled and monitored. They didn’t want to risk me accidentally killing myself. I was too valuable.”

The uglier scars had all been punishments, the ones over your eye and on your back. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Why don’t you have a name?” he asked.

That question gave you pause. To you, it seemed obvious. But to others… names carried an emotional weight. They were important. Carefully thinking of a response, you rested your mug on your knees.

“Would you give your oven a name? Or your refrigerator? Or your computer?” you asked him. After a pause, his brow furrowing, you continued. “I don’t have a name because I was a tool. You don’t name your tools. I had a designation number, based on the time of my birth. But otherwise, there was no reason to name me. Why would they want to give themselves an excuse to become attached?”

Emotion rippled across the man’s face. His fingers clenched, knuckles white and a muscle in his jaw ticking. Jason wasn’t the first person to react poorly to the facts you’d stated, but it still unsettled you. Was it really so heinous? Was it really that bad? It had afforded some safety to you, especially from Handlers who were new, and more likely to try to break the rules. If you didn’t have a name, they didn’t see you as a person to be mistreated. Just a tool. A precious and expensive one, at that.

You’d seen what men could do to the people they desired. Not being a person had saved you from tortures worse than what the Matron inflicted.

“The lady you lived with didn’t give you a name either?” he asked, voice a low rumble.

“I didn’t feel comfortable having one,” you said. “She just called me by my designation number.”

“Which is?”

“127,” you answered, tucking your legs closer to your body. “Born on the first hour of the second day of the seventh month.”

“You can’t seriously expect me to just call you by a string of numbers,” he ground out.

His anger made your skin crawl, your gaze dropping to the rapidly cooling tea that balanced precariously on your knees.

“You don’t have to call me by that,” you muttered. “Just ‘hey you’ or ‘girl’ or ‘prophet’ or ‘fortune teller’ or—”

“You seriously aren’t bothered by the fact that you don’t have a name? That you were treated like property?” he asked, incredulous.

“No.” You frowned at him, picked your tea back up to take a long drink. “Why would that bother me?”

Jason stared at you, baffled.

“Are you… holy shit, you’re being serious.” He ran a hand over his jaw, troubled. “Look, I’m not gonna force you to do something you’re uncomfortable with. So if you don’t want a name or anything, fine. But you gotta understand that I’m gonna feel like shit for addressing you as ‘hey you’ or ‘girl’. It’s crazy rude, not to mention disrespectful. Just ‘cause I don’t know you doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to disrespect you.”

It didn’t bother you to be addressed that way, but it clearly bothered him. Frankly, you weren’t sure what exactly you’d done to earn any sort of respect. But if he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, then it was only fair that you treated him the same.

“I guess… a nickname would be okay. But I’m not sure what it could even be.” You frowned, finished off your tea. “I only have my number, and—”

“How about One-Two?” Jason asked, interrupting you.

“But…” You shook your head confused. “That’s just a number, too.”

“Nah, it’s not the number they technically gave you. A nickname is, like, a riff on someone’s given name, right?” He shrugged. “Closest thing to a nickname I can give ya with what you were given.”

“Hm.” You mulled over it. It was… kind of cute, you supposed. Like a little count-off. And you didn’t feel any inherent discomfort. The idea of being addressed by a nickname was still strange, but perhaps you could move past it. “I… guess that’s okay, then.”

“Alright.” Jason clapped his hands together, the sudden noise making both you and Schnitzel jump. “It’s settled then. From now on, you’re One-Two.”

How strange it was, the comfort you felt at this. No longer being called ‘girl’ or ‘ma’am’ or ‘hey lady’. A title all your own, and one that you’d had some input in. A strange development, but not an unwelcome one. You decided to shift the conversation away from names.

“Is there anything else you want to ask?” you queried.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “But not anything I think I should ask now. Maybe later.”

You weren’t the only one who was curious, then. It was, after all, natural to be curious about a person that destiny was forcing into your life.

“Why me?” you asked him.

“Hm?”

“Why… why did you choose me?” you asked, softer this time. “For… for your reading.”

“Dunno,” Jason said, the last dregs of his anger fading into amusement. “I asked around, heard that you had a reputation. Just seemed like I wouldn’t have much to lose if it didn’t work out.”

A reputation didn’t necessarily seem like a good thing, but in this case, he didn’t seem to mean it as a bad thing, either. Flushed with embarrassment, you shook your head and stood up, careful not to step on Schnitzel.

“I should do another reading,” you stammered, flexing your fingers. “So you know who the second one will be, and—”

“And you’ll have to hurt yourself for it, right?” he interrupted. Jason shook his head, standing up as well. “Not tonight. You’ve already gotten your old scars ripped open. No reason for you to push yourself any harder. You should rest, get your energy back. If you overextend yourself, it’ll only make things worse.”

You stared up at him, not really comprehending. Was he… worried about you? Was this concern? Your flush worsened, head ducking so that your hair fell forward to hide your face. He moved closer, and you were very, very aware of just how large he was. You yourself weren’t a small woman; you’d been taller than most of the other girls and a few of the boys. But Jason Todd? He still had inches on you, not to mention just how much muscle was packed onto his body. The man was massive, but oddly enough, you didn’t feel particularly scared of him.

Maybe exhaustion was weakening your instincts.

“If… if you’re sure, I guess,” you mumbled at the floor. “Just… let me draw one card. Something to think on.”

“Just one,” Jason agreed.

With a small nod, you retrieved your tarot deck. Fingers itching and twitching as you spread the cards out in front of you, you found yourself immediately pulled to one card. You flipped it over, blood running cold.

“The Moon,” you whispered. “Hidden enemies, deception, occult forces, darkness. Danger.”

“Seems a bit… vague,” he said, looking over your shoulder.

You could smell gunpowder and cologne from him. Clearing your throat, you glanced up at him, thumb rubbing against the face of the card.

“I’ll know more tomorrow,” you told him. “But… I think that the enemy you face now will be much more difficult to find.”

Jason grunted, taking a step away. You found the tension in your shoulders bleeding away, a small sigh of relief leaving you. Although he wasn’t dangerous, you found yourself feeling… tense around him. Yet another strange thing for you to try to figure out. Schnitzel yawned and rolled onto his belly, falling immediately asleep. Following Jason to the door, you opened it for him, surprised when he paused at the landing and turned back to face you. There was something in his eyes, warm and incomprehensible.

“You did good, One-Two. Seriously. Thanks for listening to me. And trusting me enough to tell me more about yourself,” he said. “Get some sleep. Anything happens, just give me a call.”

A small nod was your only answer. Satisfied, Jason reached out and ruffled your hair before trotting down the stairs and disappearing into the shadows. You lingered in the doorway for a moment, fingers pressed to your warm cheeks.

With an odd sense of satisfaction, you locked the door and slipped into bed, drifting off to sleep with Schnitzel’s warm body curled at your feet.

\---

Something had invaded your dreams.

You knew it instinctively, a presence in the quiet spaces of your mind that should not have been present. Whatever dream you’d been having before the invasion faded away, replaced by a dark, desolate dreamscape. Cold, dark water came up to your ankles, the sky a deep, bloody red and a full moon shining down. You shivered, glanced around the area in a futile attempt to find the presence.

“Ah, this was far easier than I thought it would be,” a chorus of voices said, echoing in the unending landscape.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you turned in a slow circle. There was no one else visible, the voice disembodied. Your scars itched and burned, the re-opened wounds over your eye trickling blood.

“Who are you?” you asked, voice small. Terribly, terribly small. “Why are you here?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be any fun if I told you, would it?” the presence chuckled.

A chill went down your spine. You took a step back, brackish water sloshing around your ankles. It was cold, cold enough that your breath fogged in front of you.

“You’re the next one, aren’t you?” you queried.

“I am,” they responded. “And you’re the little prophet the Lazarus had roped into his troubles. Poor thing. You escaped one hell and landed yourself in another.”

Instead of responding, you began to wade through the dreamscape, shivering and hugging yourself tighter. In the dream, you wore a thin white dress. Just like you had in the compound. It did nothing to protect you from the cold, the ice slowly working itself into your veins. Wiping blood from your cheek, you glanced up at the moon.

“You know about me,” you whispered.

“Oh, we know all about the place that you came from,” the presence hissed. “We keep a close eye on your kin. The day may come when you or one of your kind awakens, and we must be prepared. The fact that you have aligned yourself with one who escaped our clutches only makes you more dangerous.”

Dangerous. You had never thought of yourself as such. You weren’t very strong, or fast, and your powers were harmless on their own. It was only when a third party got involved that your insight could pose a threat. A strange tree with black bark and no foliage sprouted from the water in front of you, blocking your path. You came to a stop, hands rubbing over your arms in a poor attempt at keeping warm.

“I’m not dangerous,” you called out, edging around the strange growth and watching it closely. “I’m just… trying to survive. That’s all.”

The water rippled with the laughter of the unseen being, your bones feeling the echo of the booming sound. You stumbled and had to brace a hand on the tree, the bark smooth and warm as skin. Repulsed, you jerked away, falling back into the water in your haste to get away from the monstrous thing. The water was also warm, stained the white of your thin dress a deep gray.

“Oh,” the invader purred, “you are a funny little thing, aren’t you? Do you truly not know what you are capable of? Or did all of the torture make you go mad?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you cried. You tried to pull yourself out of the water, but found yourself weighed down by your soaked garments. They were rapidly turning from grey to black, the water sinking warm into your chilled skin. “Please, I’m no threat to you!”

“Sweet child.” There was a sigh from the whole world, one that made you tremble in its presence. “You pose a far greater threat to me than the Lazarus does. Of all my kin, I am the one most threatened by you. Did you truly think that it was a lie?”

“That what was a lie?” you asked.

“That your blood was divine.”

Serpents slithered from the water, wound around your limbs. Their scales were dark as night, eyes glinting as red as the sky that seemed to press closer and closer. When the presence spoke, it was from their mouths, glistening fangs bared and ready to sink into your tender flesh.

“It’s no fun to kill you like this, little prophet,” the snakes hissed, a multitude of eyes meeting your own. “I will visit you again, teach you of what you are and what you could be. And, once you are awakened, I will strike you down in your prime.”

One of the serpents struck, teeth sinking into the flesh of your collarbone. Freezing venom leaked into your veins, your vision fading to black once more as you collapsed into the brackish depths.

\---

You woke with a startled yelp, jolting upright. Chest heaving, you pressed a hand to your bandaged eye. It was still sore to the touch but, as far as you can tell, had not bled like in your nightmare.

The whole thing seemed so vivid, did not fade away in the moments after you awakened like so many of your dreams seemed to. Schnitzel whined at the foot of the bed, ears pressed back against his skull. With a small sigh, you reached out and gently stroked his fur.

“Good boy,” you murmured. “It’s okay. Good boy.”

Once you could breathe evenly, you slipped out of bed. Still wearing your pajamas, no inky stains in sight. But your scars ached, a dull throb that echoed with each step you took towards the bathroom. When you glanced in the mirror, your reflection seemed to be the same. Dark hair, one hazel eye and one covered with bandages, washed out olive skin. You tugged at the collar of your shirt and froze.

Just below your collarbone, where the snake had bitten you in your dreams, were two small pinpricks, still oozing blood. Hand shaking, you pressed at the marks, found them tender to the touch.

It wasn’t just a dream, then. Whoever The Moon had represented had visited you in your dreams. If they could make a snake bite travel from a dreamscape into reality, what else could they do to you? Not only that, but what had they meant when they said that your blood was divine?

Since your escape, your run to freedom, you had dismissed everything the Matron had told you as lies. Nothing but the beliefs of zealots who would maim and kill children to realize their own goals. What truth could there possibly be in the words of people who had profited from your pain? Perhaps more than you had given them credit for. After all, you did not know who your parents were. You had no idea what year you had been born, or if you’d been born in the compound or stolen by their agents. You’d been content with keeping your own history unknown, until that moment.

Could it be that you truly were of divine origin?

“No,” you said to your reflection. “All of your life has been ruled by lies. This is yet another on the pile.”

After all, no one had told you about the cards, or the delicate lines on each person’s palm, or the deliberate patterns in which loose tea leaves would settle. You had been raised on the lie that only pain and blood and agony could produce what you were useful for. Why not add the lie of being divine back onto it? Doubt made the mind weak, more susceptible. If you took a sleeping aid the next time you laid down to rest, maybe the demon wouldn’t invade your mind and plant more seeds of doubt.

More importantly, what would you tell Jason? You would have to harm yourself at some point to aid him, the second of the prophesied twelve. What words would roll from your tongue when the pain led to prophecy?

God, you were getting sick and tired of all the questions.

With a low grunt of annoyance, you stripped down and took a quick shower, ripping off the bandages on your eye once you were clean. After a bit of digging you were able to scrounge up a first aid kit, using the mirror to rebandage the wounds. They weren’t as bad as you had thought; not nearly as bad as the initial gashes that had caused the scars. Within a few days, the scabs would peel away and you would be left with the same old scars, although perhaps worse than they had been before. You got dressed and took Schnitzel out for his morning walk, letting your thoughts wander to more mundane concerns. Rent was coming up soon, and you would need to hide your cash stash in a new location to make sure your landlord or a nosey maintenance worker didn’t locate it and skim off the top.

Once you had returned and given Schnitzel his breakfast, you made yourself your morning cup of earl grey tea and settled onto the couch. It was still early in the morning, and you wouldn’t get any clients coming to your door for several hours. Tapping your finger against your mug, you heaved a sigh before downing the last of your tea and moving to retrieve your phone. The text that you sent was brief.

_might have info. meet me at the diner when you’re free._

Coaxing Schnitzel to stay curled up on the couch, you took some money from your stash, grabbed your coat, and shoved your phone into your pocket. Even if Jason took a while to get there, you would at least have the opportunity to have some coffee and get more comfortable with the people surrounding you.

\---

Two hours and three cups of coffee later, Jason slid into the booth across from you at the diner. He gave you an apologetic grin, slightly out of breath as he set a motorcycle helmet down next to him and unzipped his leather jacket.

“Sorry,” he said, running a hand through his hair to try to smooth it back. “Got caught up with another job. Hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Not too long,” you lied. Thankfully, none of the waitstaff had found it odd that you had hunched in on yourself in the booth, only asking for coffee refills and nothing more. Gotham truly was weird. “Sorry if I’m keeping you from anything.”

“Nah,” he snorted, waving a hand dismissively. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

You wondered about that. When you saw him, Jason Todd gave the impression that he wasn’t at all busy and gave you his undivided attention. But Gotham was a dangerous place, and surely a vigilante such as him didn’t have the spare time that he pretended to have excess of.

“I won’t keep you long,” you said.

A waiter stopped by the table, took Jason’s order for coffee and waffles. After a moment, you went ahead and ordered waffles for yourself as well. Perhaps forcing yourself to eat a proper breakfast would help put your thoughts in order and keep them from getting jumbled all over again.

“No rush,” Jason told you, taking a sip of his fresh cup of coffee. “What do you have for me, One-Two?”

The nickname surprised you for a moment before you recognized that he was, indeed, using it in reference to you. It would take time to get used to it, you thought.

“Not a whole lot,” you admitted. “But it’s something. The second demon showed up in my dreams last night.”

Lifting an eyebrow, Jason motioned for you to continue.

“I don’t know their identity yet,” you mumbled, gaze dropping to the half empty mug in front of you. “But I still got a little information from them. They seem to think that I’m more dangerous to them than you are.”

“Hm.” Jason frowned, fingers drumming against the table. When you glanced down, you realized that his knuckles were bloody. “Anything else?”

“Um…” you hesitated, eyes fixated on his bloodied hands. “Jason, your knuckles.”

“What?” He blinked, then glanced down at his hands. With an amused snort, he pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped at them. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Oh yeah.” The smile he gave you had a hard edge to it, his skin unblemished aside from light bruises when he tucked the handkerchief away. “Not my blood.”

“O-oh.” You averted your gaze. “That’s… good?”

A sobering reminder than the man in front of you was far, far more dangerous than you.

“Anyways,” he said, steering the conversation back on track, “anything else from your dream?”

“Yeah.” You blinked, casting a glance up at him. “They said they would visit me in my dreams again. The rest was…” Not helpful, at least not to him. But he was looking at you with such earnest curiosity that you couldn’t bring yourself to lie. “It was about me. What I am.”

“You mean your prophecies and stuff?” he asked.

“No.” It was so hard to meet his too-green eyes, your skin itching and twisting. “I mean… I mean, my heritage and all that.”

“Huh.” Jason frowned. “I mean, you’ve clearly got some Middle Eastern in your family tree, probably East Asian as well—”

“No,” you interrupted. “Not… not like that. Like that my blood is divine.”

“Do you think it’s telling the truth?”

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted. “Honestly, I don’t… know why I’m telling you.”

Jason smiled, warmth bleeding into the expression. Resting his cheek on his hand, he met your eyes and tapped the table just in front of your mug.

“I’m glad you are,” he said. “Trust is a very fragile and precious thing, and I don’t take it lightly.”

Was that what the feeling was? Did you trust him? Or were you simply spilling out, emotions and fears overflowing to the one person who had established even a tenuous relationship with you?

Again, you were tired of questions. Just once, you wanted some answers.

“Anyway,” you blurted, face hot as you leaned back in the booth and stared out at the line cooks manning the grill. “Just wanted to give you an update. I can do a proper prophecy today, if you want.”

Both of you fell silent as your waffles were dropped off. Oddly enough, you felt the unfamiliar twist of hunger in your gut at the sight of them. Picking up your fork, you paused to watch Jason. He had smothered his in maple syrup and put a few dollops of jam on them. Slowly, you copied him, hoping that you were eating them the proper way. If Jason noticed that you had copied him, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he spoke through a mouthful of food.

“Only if you’re up to it,” he said, words slightly garbled. Then he swallowed, reaching for his coffee. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know if it’s worth having you hurt yourself.”

Odd. You were offering a service, but he was hesitating to follow through. Even though you were doing so voluntarily.

“Why?” you asked, taking a small bite of food.

Jason frowned at you over the mug, setting it down a little more heavily than was necessary.

“You really…” he sighed, shaking his head. “Shit. Look, One-Two. For most people, seeing someone self-harm can be upsetting. Even if the person doing the self-harm is doing it for a good cause. You’re sure that you can’t just stick to the cards?”

He didn’t get it. Or maybe you didn’t get it. Either way, you were frustrated. He hadn’t seemed to have any issue with the first cut, so why was he suddenly backing down?

“The cards are incomplete,” you explained, jabbing your fork into a chunk of waffle. “They can only give me a scattered image, a few puzzle pieces that have to be sorted out by the subject. And it doesn’t relieve the itch. During the first reading… the pressure, it was too much to be let out by any other means. I don’t enjoy hurting myself, but sometimes the only way I can keep from going crazy is by letting it out.”

“Whoa, whoa.” He held up a hand, eyes wide. “What do you mean the itch? What pressure?”

“When I first met you,” you said, words spilling from your lips in a desperate rush, “I felt a pain under my skin that I’d never felt before. I always have… an itch, an urge when someone has a future to be read and foretold. But you…” You shook your head, closing your eyes. “It hurt. If I’d held it in, I would have hurt myself even more. Denying fate only leads to harsher punishments than a broken bone or a new scar on my skin.”

The clatter of his fork on his plate drew your attention, Jason’s expression troubled when you opened your eyes to observe him. Fingers carding through his hair, his gaze dropped to your wrist. The sweater you were wearing had ridden up to your forearm, exposing thick scars. Your fingers curled into loose fists as you felt his gaze hot on your skin.

“I don’t like it,” he bit out, eyes flashing in the fluorescent light as they lifted to meet yours. “I don’t want to be the cause of more scars.”

“They’re just scars,” you told him, tugging down your sleeve. “Why does it bother you so much? I have no problem—”

“I don’t want someone hurting themselves to help me!” he snarled.

The venom in his tone, the anger behind it, had you recoiling from him. Fear coursed through you. Would he strike you like the Matron had? Anger led to punishment. But the anger was gone just as soon as it had appeared, replaced with deep regret and guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softer now. Like he was coaxing a frightened animal. “I… I didn’t mean to lash out like that. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, voice shaking. You were not fine. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“God, I know you didn’t,” he groaned, head falling forward to collide with the table with a loud thud. You flinched, watching him slump, dejected. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m just still… I’m sorry.”

Realization hit you like a swift punch to the gut. The blood on his hands, the tension in his shoulders… Wherever he had come from, whatever he had been doing, he must still have been coming down from it. Jason, it seemed, could be just as sensitive as you. Biting your lip, you hesitated before reaching out and giving him an awkward pat on the head. The contact was stiff, awkward, unfamiliar. But you had gathered from the movies you watched and books you read that physical contact could be comforting.

“It’s okay,” you muttered. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I… don’t understand exactly where you’re coming from, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Jason lifted his head, your hand retracing quickly to press over your racing heart. As he slowly sat up, he watched you, affection bleeding into his expression. You ducked your head, taking another bite of your food to distract from the warmth blooming in your fingertips.

His hair had been very, very soft.

“I don’t want you to cause harm for yourself either,” he finally said. With a brief glance, you noted that he had returned to eating. “If the pain and the pressure get that bad around me, let me know. We can find a safe way to help you alleviate it.”

“Thank you,” you said, taking another bite before setting the fork down. Already, and disappointingly, you were full. “I’ll let you know.”

Now that it had been brought to your attention, you were concerned by the fact that you felt… fine. No itching, no burning. No pressure or pain. Sitting across the booth from Jason, you didn’t feel anything other than normal sensations. If the second demon had appeared, then why wasn’t the prophecy desperate to be spoken?

More questions. No answers. You resisted the urge to slam your head against the table as well.

“Schnitzel doing okay?” he asked.

“Oh.” You blinked, the sudden subject switch leaving you a bit dazed. “Uh, yeah. He seems happy. I took him on a nice long walk this morning. He’s a very good dog.”

Smirking, Jason gestured with his fork.

“He is a good dog, isn’t he? Glad that he’s been easy for you to handle, though. Not gonna lie, kinda miss having him around,” he said.

“You can take him back, if you want.” Although you’d only had him for a short time, you would miss him, though. The quiet companionship had been… nice. “I think that the danger he can guard me from has passed.”

“You sure?” he asked. “Much as I miss him, he’s a good guard dog.”

“I’m certain,” you told him. “I would hate to keep your companion from you. I can always find my own.”

“Oh?” Jason grinned, head tilting to the side. “Good to see that you’ve become a dog person.”

“Mm,” you hummed. While the walks you had taken Schnitzel on were good for you, you hated the attention both of you drew from passerby. A less social animal would probably be better. “I was thinking of getting a cat, actually.”

That was a lie. You had only decided on a cat at that exact moment. A lazy animal to provide you with a quiet, calm presence.

“Cats are good too.” Jason shrugged, only looking mildly disappointed. “I have some other things I have to do today, but I can come pick up Schnitzel later tonight.”

“That’s fine,” you said. “I guess you can just… text me?”

Was this what having friends felt like? Meeting them for meals, talking about your life, making plans? It was odd. Pleasantly odd, though. When you sipped at your coffee, you could feel a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Thankfully, you smothered it, drinking the last dregs to hide your expression until it had settled again.

Happiness was dangerous.

“I’ll do that then.” Jason finished off the last bite of his waffles, pulling out his wallet. “Thanks for reaching out. This was… nice.”

“It was nice,” you agreed.

You frowned when he placed down enough cash for both of your meals once more, but he held up a hand to silence you before you could argue with him.

“Nope,” he said. “I’m paying for your breakfast. I said I’d pay you for your services, right?”

Right. You were a tool for him, too. One that he showed a weird amount of concern for, but a tool nonetheless. Frowning, you stared at the money on the table.

Why were you disappointed?

“Fine,” you sighed. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Take care of yourself.”

Jason reached down and ruffled your hair, a warm grin on his face. Then he was out the door. You rejected the waiter’s offer to box your food, watching him clear the table. Once all traces of your presence there had been removed, you stood up, left the diner, and trudged back to your apartment.

\---

True to his word, Jason texted you later that evening to let you know that he was on his way to retrieve Schnitzel. The dog was curled up on the couch next to you, head resting in your lap and tail lazily wagging as you scratched behind his ears. All his things had been packed into a leftover paper grocery bag you’d found, set neatly on your table. You would miss the dog’s presence, but you’d already used your phone to look at some of the shelters near your apartment. The more you thought about it, the angrier you were at yourself for not getting a pet sooner.

As difficult as people could be, you got lonely, too. Your need for companionship had been a problem back in the compound, your desire to make friends with the others there met with swift and decisive punishment. After all, you weren’t a person. You were a tool. And bonds between those subjugated could lead to rebellion.

A soft knock snapped you out of your daze, the door opening as Jason stepped inside. His hair was dusted with snow, a quick burst of cold air entering your apartment before he shut the door behind him. Schnitzel jumped from the couch and trotted over to greet him, tail wagging happily. Jason crouched down, letting the dog lick at his face and letting out an amused snort. You rose from the couch, adjusting the blanket you had draped around your shoulders.

“I got all of his stuff together for you,” you said, nodding to the bag. “I’m pretty sure I got everything.”

“Thanks,” Jason replied, grinning as he pushed the dog away and got up to head to the table. “You’re really sure that it’s okay for me to take him back?”

“I’m sure,” you told him with a small nod. “I don’t want to keep your dog away from you any longer than I need to.”

“I dunno,” he sighed, “he seems like he’s really taken to you. I might take him home and find out that he misses you more than he missed me.”

It was a sweet sentiment, but one that you knew wasn’t true. You just shrugged, watching him clip the leash to Schnitzel’s collar and hesitate in your living room.

“Is there something else I can do for you?” you asked.

“You said that you were more of a danger to this demon that showed up in your dreams than I was,” Jason said slowly, brow furrowed. “Are you… are you sure that you’re going to be okay?”

“No,” you replied, brutally honest. “I’m not sure. But I’m afraid that a guard dog can’t help much when it comes to dream invading demons.”

“Then what are you going to do? How do you even protect against something like that?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged again. “My powers were never tied to dreams or sleep cycles, so I don’t know how to protect my own mind. The old fortune teller had some books on demonology and the occult, so I’ll probably crack those open and see what I can find.”

“Any clues you could use?”

“Yeah, actually.” You leaned against the couch. “Red skies, black water, a moon. Snakes…”

The itch was starting. It started in the bite marks on your collarbone and quickly spread through your body, your eye twitching as you tried to ignore it. But it got worse. The itch turned into a burn, and then into screaming pain that had you collapsing to the floor. You gasped for breath, vision swimming. Schnitzel began to whine and in the blink of an eye, Jason was kneeling on the floor next to you. A strong arm wound around you, held you up as you dug your nails into the skin of your palms.

“It’s happening,” you gasped, unbandaged eye wide as you tried to focus on the man holding you up. “I need—”

“I know,” Jason said, brow pinched. You could feel his fingers curl around your shoulder as he guided you back to sit against the back of the couch. “What do you need me to do?”

“Your knife.” You held out a hand, fingers trembling. “Or one in the kitchen.”

Jason winced, but pulled a small knife from his boot, flicking it open. He hesitated, then wrapped his fingers around your open hand.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Just tell me where.”

“Any skin that hasn’t been scarred,” you gasped, fingers pulling at your collar, tugging it down. “It has to hurt.”

“I know,” he bit out. You could see the distress in his eyes, the way he chewed at his lip. “Do I need to say the phrase again?”

“It helps,” you ground out, writhing in pain and bringing a hand up to grip at his bicep. Sweat broke out on your skin, another wave of pain making you cry out. “God, please!”

“Fuck,” Jason snarled, shrugging off your grip as if you were nothing more than a weak child. His free hand tugged your sweater off your shoulder, exposing a wide swath of skin. You could feel the cold metal of the blade against your skin. “Speak, Prophet, and I will listen!”

The blade sank deep into your flesh just below your right collarbone, just where it met the first joint of your shoulder. Somewhere between a cut and a shallow stab wound, you felt him wrench it out, the tip catching on your shoulder before hot blood coursed down your skin. You cried out, eyes rolling back into your skull as the pain was replaced by the euphoric rush of prophecy.

“ _Child of Tragedy, Unwanted Girl, Divine Blood. The Moon watches, bleeds in the cracks between reality and dreams and seeks to snuff out your light. He holdeth in his right hand two great serpents hissing! His office is to teach the virtue of the stars, and to know the mansions of the planets, and how to understand their virtues. Only the forsaken light of those abandoned by God, divinity still in their veins, can cull him before his poison reaches the Lazarus. Lightning will guide you. The Lazarus shall hold vigil as you reclaim your blood. Thus the long journey shall begin to quell the shadows that threaten the gift of the pit_.”

Shaking, the last words of the prophecy rolled hot off your tongue before your tense muscles relaxed. Jason had retrieved a rag to press over the wound, face grim as he held your shoulder between his hands and applied bone aching pressure. Panting, you blinked and slowly came back to reality, the words and images swirling in your mind.

_Serpents winding around your limbs, fangs flashing in moonlight. Thick, thorny vines sprouting from the bite on your collarbone, wrapped around your throat, choking you. The flash of a blade, iridescent light and the hot smell of lightning oozing from your split flesh instead of blood. Screams and shadows churning, a multitude of eyes opening in the sky to watch you._

“Oh,” you gasped, trembling as you leaned closer to Jason. “I’ve only spoken prophecy for myself once before.”

“Not sure how much help this one was,” he grunted, peeling the cloth away to glance at your wound. “Didn’t even get a name.”

“I think I might have an idea,” you told him. You started to get up, nearly toppling over as a wave of dizziness crashed over you. But Jason caught you by the waist, guiding your hand to press over the rag. “There’s a book, in my room. The Lesser Key of Solomon.”

“The Crowley book?” he asked, eyebrows rising in an incredulous expression.

“That one.” You nodded, let him guide you to sit on the couch. “The description sounded familiar.”

“Got it.” With a short nod, he pressed your hand harder against the rag before darting into your room. Only a few short moments later, he returned, setting it on your lap and taking over on staunching the blood flow. “See what you can find.”

Ignoring the pain radiating from your right shoulder, you flipped the book open. Blood from the rag smeared on the pages, but you paid it no mind. Finally, you landed on the section you needed. Triumphant, you read aloud from the passage.

“The Fifty-ninth Spirit is Oriax, or Orias. He is a Great Marquis, and appeareth in the Form of a Lion, 3 riding upon a Horse Mighty and Strong, with a Serpent's Tail; 4 and he holdeth in his Right Hand two Great Serpents hissing. His Office is to teach the Virtues of the Stars, and to know the Mansions of the Planets, and how to understand their Virtues,” you recited. You tapped the page, pride swelling in you. “It’s Orias. That’s who I have to take down.”

Jason glanced down at the book, peeling the rag away. The bleeding had slowed to a lazy trickle, the collar of your sweater stained with blood. The hand that had been pressed to your shoulder rested on the couch next to you knee. All at once, you were very aware of just how close he was to you, head bent close enough that you could feel his long exhale fan over the skin of your neck.

How long had it been since someone had been this close and had not hurt you? Had anyone ever touched you without the intent to harm? Your body locked up, the phantom feeling of the Matron’s hands ghosting over your skin.

“This one was right to think you were a danger to him, apparently,” he said, finally leaning away. His hand, however, continued to rest where it was. “How are you supposed to kill a demon on his own turf in your dreams?”

“I’m not really sure,” you admitted. You flexed your hand, the phantom feeling of your vision coursing just under your skin. “Maybe I have to choose to go to sleep to control the dream? Like, take some of my sleeping pills and will myself to think of what I want.”

“Could work.” Jason sighed, running his hands over his face before standing up. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Bathroom,” you told him, “under the sink.”

As he wandered off to find it, you closed the book and tried to formulate a plan. Clearly you would have to level the playing field if you wanted to stand a chance against Orias. You’d already been planning to take some of your pills, but it had been in the hopes of avoiding him. If you took the steps to have a lucid dream, then you would be able to have some amount of control over the dreams he invaded. The prophecy said that Jason would hold vigil… perhaps so that he could wake you up if something went wrong, or to pull you out once you’d succeeded. But the blade…

Jason sat back down next to you, quickly bandaging your shoulder. His fingers were warm when they brushed your skin, jaw clenched. You held still, waited until he’d snapped the kit closed before you spoke.

“You’re upset,” you stated.

“Not sure why you aren’t,” he replied.

Schnitzel whined from under the table, tail tucked between his legs.

“Why would I be? The prophecy has helped us figure out what needs to be done, and I’m lucid enough to make plans,” you told him.

“I hurt you,” he bit out. His eyes were on his hands, which you realized he’d scrubbed until they were pink. He’d have to wash them again, a few smears of blood on them from where they’d touched you while he patched you up. “Like it was nothing. You’re not angry?”

“No.” You frowned at him, turned on the couch to properly face him. “You didn’t maim me. It hurt enough to get the words out and give me relief. And I didn’t bleed too much. I can still move my arm. I let you make the cut. Why would I be angry?”

Jason just stared at you, baffled.

“What?” you asked, just as baffled. “You wanted to do it so that I wouldn’t hurt myself too badly, right? That’s kind of you. You’re being too hard on yourself and assuming things about me if you think that taking control in a bad situation would be reason for me to be mad at you.”

“You’re…” Jason let out a startled laugh, shaking his head and leaning back. “You’re really something, One-Two.”

You frowned, confused.

“You have every right to hate me,” he pointed out. “The wound I made was painful, in a bundle of nerves. It probably still hurts, and—”

“Jason.” You sighed, setting the book down on the table and standing up. “I said I’m not mad, so please stop trying to make me feel like I should be. We have work to do.”

Not waiting for his response, you turned to head into the kitchen. The bottle of pills was tucked behind your boxes of tea, and you quickly shook one out into your hand. Jason approached on your blind side, although he moved loudly enough for you to know he was there.

“What’s your plan?” he asked, voice even. Good. You needed him to be calm.

“I’m going to take a sleep aid and try to lucid dream before I fall asleep,” you told him. “It might give me an edge over Orias. I just need you to keep an eye on me. If something seems wrong, do your best to wake me up. But I think this is the only shot I’ll really get.”

Turning towards him, you jolted when you saw how close Jason was. He leaned against the counter just next to you, frowning down at you as you curled your fingers around the pill.

“You seem confident,” he said.

“I… I guess,” you agreed. It was a bit uncharacteristic, the surge of bravery that you felt. Maybe it was because speaking your own future was so rare, and the last time you had, you’d gained your freedom. If you’d succeeded before, surely you would succeed now, right? “Do you have any other ideas?”

“You’re the one who got the vision,” he told you, folding his arms over his chest. “I’ll follow your lead on this. You just tell me what to do. If it goes wrong, I’ll bail you out and we can try again.”

“Thank you.” You gave him a small nod before swallowing the pill dry.

It was nice, having someone believe in you. You dug through the drawers until you found a small pocket knife, the handle made of faded ivory. Cold in your hand, you held it tight before leaving the kitchen and moving into your bedroom. Jason and Schnitzel both followed, the dog jumping up to curl at the foot of the bed. After you’d laid down, Jason dragged a chair in and sat down next to you.

Just as you began to drift off, reciting affirmations in your head that had helped you lucid dream before, you felt a warm hand rest on your forehead. Eyes slipping closed, you only just made out Jason’s whisper before sleep took you.

“Good luck, One-Two.”

\---

The dream bent and twisted under your will. The red skies were replaced by grey clouds, thunder rolling in the distance and the air carrying the static smell of lightning. No rain fell, but the clouds looked promising, waiting for the right moment to unleash a downpour. There was a slight chill to the air, although it was pleasant. The dark water had been replaced by rolling fields of wildflowers, your toes curling into soft soil. There was no fleshy tree, no nightmarish moon.

Just you and the comfort of control.

The knife you’d fallen asleep holding was a pleasant weight in your hand, a perfect copy of the one you had in the real world. You flipped it open, the sharp, thin blade reflecting in the dim light. Walking through the fields, you focused on the soft brush of the flowers against your ankles, the thunder slowly moving closer and closer to where you were. You wore the same white dress, the hem falling just above your knees.

But this time, you’d chosen to have the memento to your past.

“Looks like you figured things out.”

You turned slowly, recognizing the voice from your nightmare before. What would this demon look like? Would he try to break your mind, show a form that was relegated only to nightmares?

Orias smiled when you finally faced him. Unlike the description in the book, he did not have the form of a lion, he wasn’t riding a horse, and he didn’t hold enormous snakes in his hands. He just looked like an average man, not much taller than you, with sandy hair and pale skin. What gave him away were his eyes. They were dark, darker than the night, and you had to rip your own gaze away to keep from falling into a trance. The flowers withered at his feet, crumbling to ash.

“You’ve come here to kill me,” you said.

“Well, not right off the bat,” he sighed. “That’s just boring. Why skip all the good parts and get right to the ending? Besides, I figured I could impart a bit of wisdom before I snuffed you out.”

“What’s the point of teaching me anything if I’m just going to die?” you asked him.

“There is no point.” Orias spread his hands to the side, palms facing the storm rumbling overhead. “That’s the thing that you humans just don’t get. There’s no point to anything. Me and my kin are only here to amuse ourselves. I’m not doing this to impart some kind of large meaning to it all. I simply feel like doing it.”

It was a terrible truth, but you knew that he wasn’t lying. There really wasn’t any point to it. Orias didn’t show any kind of desire to come after Jason, at least not then. He was simply playing around with a moral who posed some danger to him. Your grip tightened on the handle of the knife as you angled yourself so he remained on your non-blind side.

“What do you want to teach me, then?” you asked.

“I only want to show you what you are,” he said. Orias did not step closer to you, looked amused at your wariness. “So that you will at least be self-aware in the moments before your death.”

“I know what I am,” you rebutted. “And I know what they tried to make me.”

“Not what they tried to,” he corrected. “What they succeeded in making you. Little thing, you can try to pretend all you want that you are something different. But those zealots knew exactly what you were. It’s just a shame that they wasted all that potential.”

“How was any of what happened to me a waste?” you asked, rage beginning to run hot in your veins. “They bled me until I was almost dry and then used me up over and over again. I never had a moment to breathe in there. It was just prophecy after prophecy, nothing else.”

“They wasted you,” Orias explained, “because they spilled all that blood without putting it to any use. Sure, they were able to stay two steps ahead of their enemies and send their avenging angel out to strike before any of their targets could see him coming. But they wasted the blood.”

Wasted your blood? How? How could your abused flesh be seen as a waste?

“See, the problem with the religious types is that they have this whole big idea of sacrifice, right?” Orias slowly began to pace in circles around you, dark eyes watching as you kept him in your sight. “They think that the act of sacrifice itself is the important part. But where the real power lies is in the blood itself. Simply washing away all that divine blood is a terrible waste. They would have been able to amass more power if they had collected it and used it against those they deemed heretics.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The blood of Nephilim is a powerful thing, no matter how diluted by mortality it is,” he said, coming to a stop only a few feet away from you. The smell of sulfur burned your nose, made your eyes water. “It’s capable of many things when properly used. The old order understood that, and used children like you to make weapons that could strike down even the Archdukes of Hell. But they lost their way and thought that the visions spilled through pain and dreams and lust were the real prize. Those visions are simply a defense mechanism, something to give the child an edge over their abusers. But none of you were taught that.”

How were you supposed to take this information? For years, you had been telling yourself that the Keepers and the Matron had been delusional. That your powers were simply some meta quirk, an evolution that the other children shared. You’d believed that they’d lied to justify the abuse, the captivity. You felt sick to your stomach. All your life, the truth had stared you in the face, but you’d refused to believe it. Not only that, but every cut, every bruise and broken bone and beating, had been a waste.

Your real value lay in the blood running through your veins. A weapon designed to be drained, nothing more. The visions, the itch to push people on the path that destiny wanted them to take, was nothing more than a defense mechanism. A prey response, one that was supposed to keep you safe. But it had been twisted against you and used to continue a cycle of abuse. The dreamworld around you faded, your hands shaking and bile rising in your throat as you absorbed this horrific fact.

“Ah, I love to see that look of horror on mortals,” Orias purred, his voice coming through the static. His fingers were cold when they touched your chin, trailed down to rest on the pin prick bites on your chest. “Makes it all so much more amusing.”

Lightning struck dangerously close, the tang of ozone overpowering Orias’ brimstone scent. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, fine hairs on your arms and neck standing on end. Horror ran molten in your veins, limbs locked in place. Was this how it all ended? With you dying in your own dream, reality choking you and proving that your whole life had been a waste, potential never realized?

No. You refused.

A rush of desperation rose in you, pulse stuttering. You wanted to live. More than ever, you wanted to survive. Breaking out of your trance, you jerked away from Orias and raised the knife. It seemed ridiculous, brandishing such a tiny thing at a powerful demon. But it was all that you had. Surprise flashed across his features before he hissed at you, raising a hand and snapping his fingers.

Just like in your vision, thick vines sprouted from the bites, thorns digging into your skin as they wound around your throat. You choked, grasped at them with your fingers and pulled, ignoring the way the thorns tore at the flesh. Thunder rumbled louder, another flash of lightning above your head before rain began to fall. Gritting your teeth and gasping for breath, you pried the thin blade of the knife between the tender skin of your throat and the choking vines. The edge sliced through them easily, black ichor gushing as they withered and died. Taking deep, wheezing breaths, you glared at the demon.

Two black snakes emerged from Orias’ sleeves, their hissing loud above the deafening roar of thunder. The rain picked up, going from a sprinkle to a downpour, dress sticking to your skin as the snakes wound through the wildflowers towards you. One of them reared up in front of you, fangs flashing. Adrenaline pumping hot and fast through your limbs, you made a wild slash at it. There was a scream as the blade sliced through its neck, head tumbling to the ground. From where the blood pooled, bright spider lilies began to bloom, spreading through the wildflowers. Orias flinched away, the arm that the snake had come from withering away, dripping from the sleeve as a thick, dark goo.

The other snake wound up your leg, hissing furiously. With a determination you did not even know you were capable, you grabbed it, eye meeting Orias’ as you plunged the knife into it and cut off its head as well. The body went cold in your grip, blood dripping down your arm and the lilies spreading faster and faster, rising under each step you took towards the furious demon. His human features were melting away, a dark void yawning before you, a maw opening to scream in a chorus of voices and reveal row upon row of impossibly sharp teeth. Orias was formless, a writhing shadow swallowing the bright flash of lightning that struck behind you. Dropping the lifeless body of the snake, you gripped the knife tighter in your left hand and raised your right.

Something pulsed under your skin, made your fingers curl as you stared at your palm. There was a crackling in your veins, hot as the lightning that curved through the storm clouds. You thought of the vision you’d seen, the light leaking from your skin. Was that the power that you’d been so unaware of? What your blood was capable of?

_Lightning will guide you._

A storm brewed inside of you, matching the intensity of the one in your dreamscape. You turned your face up to watch it, the way the rumbling thunder echoed the roar of your own heartbeat. The rain was soothing against the flushed skin of your face, eased the pain radiating from your throat, your reopened scars. The moon shone from beneath the clouds and, in that moment, you understood. The spider lilies curled over your bare feet and ankles, soft against your skin.

You knew what you had to do.

Dropping your gaze to your open palm, you raised the knife. The blade flashed, reflecting the cold moon and the storm above. Then you brought it down, carved deep into the tender flesh of your palm until you hit bone. Pain blossomed as you dragged it down, down, trailing a path down your wrist and halfway up your arm. You stopped only when the pain nearly blinded you, knife falling to the ground. It was not blood that welled from the wound. Iridescent, silver-blue liquid spilled from your flesh. It was hot, molten. The light spread across your palm, the veins that had been damaged, up to your fingertips. It reeked of ozone, the crackle of electricity and mellowed by the scent of petrichor.

Reaching out, you turned your palm over the shrieking mass that had been Orias and watched as the lightning flowed out of your flesh. It sizzled in the air, miniature streams of light that arced towards the darkness. When the first drop hit Orias, the screams that left him nearly busted your eardrums, almost made you recoil. The noise was inhuman, terrible, incomprehensible. But you did not flinch. You did not bend. The glowing blood flowed faster, carved paths of light in the writhing, dark mass of the demon. Eyes like burning stars erupted across his flesh even as your blood ate away at his form.

You did not look away.

Lightning splintered across the surface of his flesh, a boom of thunder drowning out his screams. With a roar, a rush of static across your skin, the demon exploded. You closed your eyes, raised your uninjured hand to protect your face from the hot ichor that splattered over you. When the thunder quieted, the rain slowly coming to a stop, you lowered your arms and opened your eyes. In the spot where the demon had stood was a patch of scorched earth, as if it had been struck by lightning. Your blood stopped flowing, but the glow remained, pulsing with each beat of your heart. Breath caught in your lungs, you fell to your knees, mud cool as it splashed up onto your feverish skin. The clouds parted above you, and when you raised your head to look at the sky, you found a multitude of shining eyes staring back.

Hands curling into fists, you closed your eyes and let the dream bleed away, pain fading as you jolted out of your deep sleep.

_\---_

Body stiff, you slowly opened your eyes. Your dark ceiling came into view, although the last vision in your dream was still burned into your memory.

What had been watching you in those last moments? Was it the trace of divinity that ran in your blood, Nephilim finally roused from its slumber? Or had it been something else?

You didn’t want to think about it.

Groaning, you rubbed at the bandages covering your aching eye. Your shoulder throbbed as you struggled to sit up. Warm hands helped you, Jason staring at you with thinly veiled concern as you blinked the last vestiges of sleep away. No blood seemed to be on your skin, which only confirmed that the wound you’d inflicted in the dream hadn’t carried over. Your throat hurt though, and when you brushed your fingers over it, you hissed in pain.

“You’ve got some nasty bruising there,” he told you. “I thought about waking you up but… you were still breathing fine and didn’t seem to react to it.”

“Probably looks worse than it is,” you rasped, voice strained.

“You good otherwise?” he asked, one hand still resting on your upper back.

The contact grounded you, helped you shake your drowsiness. The knife still rested on the covers where your left hand had been, dull compared to the way it had flashed in your dream. You took a few deep breaths, consciousness bleeding back in.

“Yeah,” you ground out. “Orias is taken care of.”

A smile grew on Jason’s face and he gave you a gentle pat on the shoulder before leaning back in his chair.

“That’s great, One-Two. Looks like your confidence wasn’t misplaced,” he said. “You hungry, thirsty?”

“No.” You shook your head, right hand still tucked beneath the sheets. The fingers tingled, nerves sparking. “But thank you. Did I say anything while I was asleep?”

“Nope,” he answered, tilting his head. “Why?”

So, the wound hadn’t triggered a vision in reality, either. You’d thought it was odd in the dream, in the back corner of your mind. Maybe because it hadn’t been real, it hadn’t triggered a response. Slowly, you lifted your right hand, eyes adjusting to the dim light. A pale scar ran from your palm, up your fingers, and down your forearm. It was similar to the ones you had seen from people struck by lightning, branching out like bolts of pale electricity on your flesh. The center of it, where you had dragged the blade down in your dream, was the thickest, bisecting the other scars and standing out on your skin. You blinked, not certain if the pale glow that pulsed there was your own imagination or reality.

“Just curious,” you said, fingers curling into your palm. “But I think I may have discovered a new weapon for you to use against the other demons.”

A tiny smile curved up the corner of your mouth, a gentle storm brewing beneath your skin.

You were not what they had tried to make you. You were different.

You were more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was.... a beast. i thought about expanding on the ending a bit more but decided to leave it for the next chapter bc almost 12k words was more than enough. phew. i listened to a dark synthwave playlist while writing/editing this chapter, which is on spotify [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1IxAxYyL9o3HkydAuxYpCm?si=xiWFYL2ER-SL7uVcx83a5g)
> 
> thank you all for reading! i love y'all. stay healthy, be kind to yourselves.
> 
> the road trip starts in the next update!!


	4. Part Three: The Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: implied eating disorder (if you squint), past suicidal ideation, mention of past abuse/torture, violence

Hours slipped into days, days slipped into weeks, and there was no sign of any movement by the remaining demons. It was frustrating and, if you were honest, more than a little bit frightening. Silence was not good. Silence meant that plans were being made. That they were regrouping, likely all too aware of your existence and the danger you now posed to them. The more time passed, the more nervous you got. Not only for yourself, but for Jason, too.

Although there had been no sign of the demons, he still came to see you regularly. You gave him readings for his other cases, spread the cards and read tea leaves for him to help him find missing children or guide him on the best path to help women in peril. You tried to turn away his payments, but he always found a way to leave money for you. Once, he had even gone as far as slipping into your apartment while you were asleep to tuck a sizable amount of money into your cash stash.

It was… nice, having Jason around. There was still an awkward distance between you, a barrier that neither of you could quite break. But, you supposed, he was the closest thing to a friend you’d had in years. Three times a week he would drag you out of your home and over to that little 24-hour diner to treat you to breakfast. While you appreciated the effort, and had come to enjoy his companionship, he had noticed your reluctance to eat.

“Still not hungry?” he asked you, pointing his fork at the bacon and eggs you had ordered. “You haven’t touched it.”

“Oh.” You blinked, pushing a slice of bacon around the plate. “It’s not that I’m not hungry. I just don’t want to eat.”

There you went again, telling him more than you needed to. You winced when you saw his jaw clench. Over the weeks you’d known him, you had learned to read his facial expressions. The one that he wore at that moment meant that you’d said something to worry him. Again.

“Why don’t you want to eat?” Jason asked, slowly, carefully forming his words.

“Um.” You set down your fork, laced your fingers together. Already, you could feel the truth at the back of your tongue. You’d always been very bad at lying. “We weren’t allowed much food at the compound. I guess I’m just… still not used the meals that I see out here.”

“So, they starved you,” he bit out.

“… I guess so?” You cringed, already feeling terrible. “We got enough to survive, so…”

Jason watched you, eyes narrowed. His gaze was heavy, calculating as he watched you wither in embarrassment and regret. The sound of him setting his fork down on his plate was, at least to you, deafening.

“What was your favorite food, back in the compound?” he asked.

“What?” You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden question.

“Your favorite food,” he repeated, resting his chin on his hand. “What was it?”

You frowned, averting your gaze from him and staring down at the plate in front of you. What had your favorite food been there? Most of it had been tasteless, more focused on the essential nutrients that you needed than anything else. But… You felt your heart swell when you remembered, looking up at him, excited.

“On our birthdays,” you told him, “we would get these little pastries. Some of them were filled with meat and vegetables, some of them were sweet. When I was little, I got so excited to have them, just because they were special.”

A slow smile curved up his lips as he listened to you, the hard edge in his eyes melting away to something softer. You liked it when Jason smiled. It was much easier to see the soft little pieces of him that he so frequently tucked away and out of sight. Sitting up straight, he flagged down the waitress and had her box up your meals. Alarmed, you wondered if you had said something wrong, and he’d simply put on a kind mask before berating you. But Jason just left cash on the table and picked up your boxed-up breakfast.

“Come on,” he finally said, tucking the boxes under his arm and motioning for you to follow him. “I have an idea.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, scrambling after him and quickly pulling your coat on.

“You’ll see,” he told you, infuriatingly vague. Glancing back at you, he held open the door for you and gently steered you away from your usual route home. “When I first came back, it was hard for me to eat, too. I was pretty far gone, for a while, and really only ate because I had to in order to keep up with the physical training I was doing. But when I snapped out of it, I decided to try to eat my favorite foods from when I was a kid to see if that helped. I figure we can try that out for you, too. It’s a shame that you don’t eat when you’re such a good baker.”

Frankly, you were uncertain about his idea. But he seemed dead set on it, so you didn’t argue. Instead, you stuck close as you followed him off your well-beaten path, leading you to a different district and stopping in front of a Greek bakery.

“I don’t know if they’ve got anything exactly like what you used to have,” Jason told you as he ushered you inside, “but I’m willing to bet that it’s even better. I come to this place all the time.”

The woman at the counter lit up when she saw Jason, greeting him boisterously in a language you did not understand, but suspected was Greek. Jason answered her, a warm smile on his face as she came around the counter to pull his head down and kiss his cheeks. You watched the exchange, fascinated. The woman turned to you, her expression warm and welcoming as she switched to English.

“And who is this?” she asked Jason.

“A friend,” he told her, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I’m trying to introduce her to more Greek food, and knew that this was the perfect place to bring her.”

“Ah,” the woman laughed, “you’re being far too kind. But I’m glad to see you again, and with a friend. What can I get for you?”

“I was thinking some of your spanakopita,” he said, thoughtful, “and samsades.”

“Of course,” she gave a small nod before retreating behind the counter again.

You watched her fill paper bags with pastries, the smell of them wafting through the air and making your mouth water. It was with no small amount of eagerness that you stepped forward to the counter to retrieve the bags when she offered them to you. Jason paid her, chatting with her once more in Greek while you bent your head to inhale deeply, the sharp smell of cheese and the sweeter smell of honey filling your senses. You looked back up when Jason rested a hand on top of your head.

“Ready to head out?” he asked.

You gave a small nod, giving the woman a small wave farewell before following him out. Once more he held the door open for you, a strange gesture that you’d learned to simply let him do for you. The one time you’d stared at him in confusion, he’d gotten horrendously embarrassed, and you’d decided to simply accept the behavior without questioning it further. You shivered once you were outside again, hugging the pastries carefully in hopes of keeping them warm.

“Here,” he said, juggling the takeout boxes once more so that he could take one of the bags from you and open it. “These are the samsades. It’s filled with almonds and sesame seeds, seasoned with cinnamon and cloves, and drenched in honey. Careful, they’re a little sticky.”

After a moment of hesitation, you peered into the bag he offered and took one of the little pastries. It certainly smelled delicious, although it didn’t look much like the pastries you’d eaten in the compound. Carefully, you bit into it, chewing slowly.

“Oh,” you said, straightening up and staring down at the remainder of the pastry. “It’s… It’s really good.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, watching you as you ate the rest of it and grabbed another. “Glad you like it. We can start coming here for breakfast instead, if you want. They’ve got small tables we can sit at, and they also serve coffee.”

“What’s the other one?” you asked, finishing off the second samsade and holding up the bag you were still holding.

“That,” he said, “is spanakopita. It’s a flaky pie filled with spinach, lemon juice, and feta cheese. My mom made them sometimes, when I was really little. Save that one for your lunch or dinner, and make sure to warm it up. There’s usually a sauce that goes with it, but you can enjoy it without.”

Accepting the other pastry bag from him, along with your takeout from the café, you found your mouth twitching into an almost smile.

“Thank you,” you said, eyes downcast and voice soft. “I appreciate this, Jason.”

“I’m just glad I could help,” he told you. “You deserve to enjoy things just like everyone else, One-Two.”

Some warm, unknown emotion welled in your chest as you finally looked up at him. It choked you, and you had to clear your throat before you spoke.

“Thank you,” you managed to get out. “I’ll… see you later.”

Jason nodded, reaching out to ruffle your hair. You’d gotten used to the gesture, his own little farewell to you.

“See you later,” he said.

Adjusting the food in your arms, you gave him a little nod before turning and making your way back home. There was a little skip in your step, a lightness in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a while. Finally, you were making progress. Fitting in a little bit more in the world, carving out your own little place. When you got back, you set the pastries down on the kitchen counter, put the takeout in the fridge, and stared out your little kitchen window, watching as snow slowly began to fall.

Although you knew the peace could not last, you let yourself enjoy the moment.

\---

It was late, a few nights later, when you woke with a familiar buzzing in your fingertips. It turned to static in your right hand, centered on the new, odd scar you’d obtained there. Drowsy, you pulled yourself out of bed, flicking on the lamp and yawning. Your limbs felt heavy as you dragged yourself into the living room, flicking on the light there as you picked up your cards. Muscle memory kicked in as you sleepily cut the deck, fanning the cards in front of you and staring at them with heavy-lidded eyes. You had no idea what time it was, but you could hear the distant wail of a siren. Running a hand over your face, you yawned again, jaw cracking, before you let the static in your hand guide you.

For a moment, you simply stared at the spread you’d made. Your brain struggled to catch up with your fingers, but when it did, you felt the fortune hit you like a brick to the head. Rushing back to your room, you retrieved your phone and hoped that you weren’t waking Jason when you called him, cradling the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” his voice rumbled once he’d picked up.

You winced. You’d definitely woken him up.

“Um,” you said, your own voice raspy with sleep, “I’m sorry if I woke you up, Jason. But I just got a reading for you.”

There was a pause, his brain catching up with your words. You could almost hear the click as it connected, his startled little intake of breath.

“Oh,” he said. You could hear him fumbling with something, a muffled curse and a thump. “No worries. Give me… like, twenty minutes and I’ll be there, okay?”

You hung up, setting your phone down and moving to unlock your door before you retreated to the kitchen. Preparing a cup of tea for yourself, you kept the water warm and set up a second mug for Jason once he got there. You relocated to the couch, settling down and sipping at your tea as you waited.

Less than twenty minutes later, Jason burst into the apartment, startling you. You stared at him with wide eyes, fingers clutching your half-empty mug tightly. Slightly out of breath, Jason relaxed when he saw you, closing the door behind him.

“You really need to start locking your door, One-Two,” he said, breathless.

“It was locked,” you told him, “I just unlocked it for you.”

“Right,” he sighed, running a hand through his hand but only mussing it further.

“What kind of tea would you like?” you asked him, setting your own mug down and standing up.

“Still have chai?”

“Of course.”

You’d started keeping it around just for him, once you’d figured out that he preferred it. You moved into the kitchen, pouring the still hot water over the tea bag and bringing the mug out to him. When you returned, Jason had taken off his jacket, draped it over the back of the armchair and was inspecting the spread you’d made. Glancing up at you, he took the mug from you with a murmur of thanks. You reached out, letting your fingertips drift over each of the four cards.

_The Lovers. Two of Swords. Three of Wands. Seven of Cups._

“What do they mean?” Jason asked you.

“There are two of them,” you said, the words spilling past your lips as the puzzle pieces fit together. “Partners. There must be a journey to find them, a choice to be made, self-reflection. But there will also be temptation, revelations.”

“Huh.” He blinked, frowning. “Anything else you were able to figure out?”

“Yes.” You tapped the woman on the face of the card, the tree of knowledge behind her. Traditionally, diviners had believed her to stand for Eve, but… “I think one of them is Lilith.”

Jason let out a thoughtful hum, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the cards. You watched him, keeping quiet so that you wouldn’t interrupt his train of thought. Finally, he glanced back up at you.

“Are you getting any kind of sense of danger?”

You shook your head.

“Not really,” you admitted. “I get the sense… that it’s less them pursuing you, and more about seeking them out.”

“Any idea where they might be?”

Another shake of your head.

“No, I’m sorry. I can try to meditate on it, see if I get any kind of clues about where they might be.”

“If you don’t mind, I would appreciate it.” He set his mug down, eyes trailing down to watch you rub at your itching scars. “Any pain?”

“Not right now,” you admitted. “Just the usual itch.”

“Good.” He looked satisfied, giving you a small nod. “If we can avoid having you hurt yourself, I’ll consider it a win for us.”

You weren’t entirely convinced. After all, the first prophecy you’d made for him had mentioned twelve cuts. Even if the one you’d made in your dreams counted, you knew that there would have to be another for the two demons you had now sensed making their move. Although you’d had discussions about potential options to take if you felt that flood of pain again, a prophecy needing to spill from you, you had your doubts about their effectiveness. It was, you supposed, kind of him to try to keep you from reverting to the path you’d taken in the compound. But even if you continued to spill your blood, you knew that you had changed.

The storm brewing under your skin was proof.

You were not what they had made you, even if you fell upon desperate measures. You were different.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jason said, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You look troubled,” he told you. “Anything you wanna share?”

Nothing that wouldn’t upset him. You averted your gaze, resting your fingers over the Two of Swords. _Introspection, self-reflection._ Perhaps it was a suggestion for the both of you, more troubled thoughts to churn in your mind. Jason had his own burdens. You didn’t want to continue to place your own upon his shoulders.

“Not really,” you lied, the words bitter on your tongue. It felt terrible, lying to him. “Just… thinking about what this fortune means.”

“Well.” Jason did not look convinced, but, thankfully, he did not push you. “If you find out anything else, let me know.”

“I will.” You gave a small nod, before remembering something. “Wait, one moment.”

Motioning for him to stay where he was, you shuffled back into your bedroom. You retrieved a small bag from your closet before returning, handing the parcel over to him. He looked confused, opening the bag to peek inside.

“You’ll be going back to the women’s shelter soon to help them, right?” you said. “I put some of the clothes that the old woman gave me but don’t fit in there. I hope that some of the women can use them.”

Jason stared at the bag in his hands, then up at you. There was a rush of emotions across his face before he finally settled on gratitude. The bag wrinkled under his tight grip, a muscle in his jaw clenched. You watched him, confused by the sudden flood of emotions he was exhibiting.

“Thank you, One-Two,” he finally said, voice thick. “This is very kind of you.”

You frowned.

“I’m just doing what I can,” you told him. “Besides, I have no use for those clothes. They are better somewhere where another woman can wear them. You are overpaying me enough that they can be replaced.”

“It’s still kind,” he snorted, retrieving his coat. “Take the compliment.”

You shrugged. The concept of compliments still hadn’t quite sunk in for you. You weren’t doing anything that you normally wouldn’t have, so you didn’t see much reason behind the praise. Smothering a yawn, you watched him shrug his coat back on and tuck the bag of clothes under his arm. He paused on the way to the door, turning back to you.

“You should come, one day,” he said. “To the shelter.”

You tilted your head to the side, curious.

“Why?” you asked.

“I think you’d get along with some of the ladies there,” Jason said with a sad little smile. “And they would appreciate the company.”

“I’ll think about it,” you told him. “Be safe getting home. I apologize again for waking you.”

“Ah, no worries.” He waved away your apology. “I appreciate you continuing to do this for me.”

“I don’t mind,” you told him.

Truthfully, you really didn’t, which was a strange turn of events. You’d been reluctant to help at first, not wanting to drag yourself into trouble. But now? There was something about Jason, something that made you want to help him. And it wasn’t just the money.

You ducked your head and he reached out to give you his usual farewell hair ruffle. But this time his hand lingered for just a moment longer. When he pulled away, you frowned at him, confused. Jason just gave you one last wave before leaving. You locked the door behind him, reaching up to smooth your hair back down.

Something had shifted, but you weren’t certain what it was. Gathering your deck, you hesitated for a moment before leaving The Lovers laying on the table, putting the rest away where they belonged. There was something about that card in particular that was calling out to you, fingers itching to hold it, smooth over the fading paper. But you resisted that urge, leaving it so that you could return to bed and, hopefully, get some more sleep.

\---

_The concrete floor of your cell was cold against your feverish skin, the closest thing to comfort you’d been able to seek out. The fresh wounds over your eye still burned and stung, the fever that accompanied them throwing you into a hazy, dissociative state. You were no longer sure how long it had been since they’d carried you back to your room. Food had been left for you, but you hadn’t touched it. Your stomach churned at the thought, bile rising in your throat. Curling into a ball, you wondered idly if this was how you would die._

_No. You knew that wasn’t true. You’d seen otherwise while they’d carved into your face, left your eye a bloody ruin._

_But it was hard to focus on those images when you drifted, floating on a heady mixture of agony and fever. Normally, the Keepers would treat your wounds to make sure that they did not become infected. Before, you had been a valuable asset, your prophecies and visions clear and accurate._

_Now, you had proven yourself to be unreliable. Now, you had no value._

_Part of you wondered if it would be best to just ignore your vision, if it would be better to just die. You were so tired, worn down by eighteen years of pain and abuse._

_Death was a mercy that you had not yet earned._

_The door opened, but you did not have the strength to lift your head, and you were afraid to turn it to see who had entered. It was likely one of the Keepers, come to force medicine into you and prolong your suffering. But the footfalls that approached you were far too heavy, the voice one that you were sure you had not heard before, yet felt familiar._

_“This is the one?”_

_A second set of footsteps, heels clicking on the floor. You shuddered in fear. The Matron._

_“That’s the one. Number 127. She’s provided useful information previously, but began to rebel and purposely feed us false prophecies.” The Matron sounded disgusted. “We’ve left her alone after her punishment, but she’s yet to repent.”_

_The strangely familiar voice let out a thoughtful sound._

_“Any chance she’ll be useful to us again?” they asked._

_“Doubtful. Once the prophets rebel, they rarely provide anything we can use and babble nonsense instead. We’re considering disposing of her like the others.”_

_Ah, so they were going to kill you. Like so many others before you, you would be disposed of now that they deemed you unreliable and untrustworthy. Too rebellious for your own good, your one moment of self-awareness leading to your doom._

_With a surge of strength, your body moving on its own, you pushed yourself up and turned your bloody face to the Matron and the stranger._

_“Azrael,” you rasped._

_Both of them stared at you, only the Matron visible through your unruined eye. Fresh blood dripped to the floor, the only sound in the room._

_“What did you just say?” the Matron asked, voice sharp._

_“Azrael,” you repeated. The words and visions you’d seen returned to you, spilling from your cracked lips. “The angel of death has slipped his leash and fast approaches. His righteous fury can be sated only by blood.”_

_“Not as useless as you thought, it appears,” the stranger said._

_“What else did you see, 127?” the Matron questioned._

_“Offer me to him, and he will pass you by,” you told her. “A peace offering.”_

_She looked skeptical, frowning down at you. But she turned to the stranger you could not see._

_“What do you think, Brother?”_

_“No harm in trying,” he said._

_You wanted to turn your head to see him, but found that you were growing weak again, arms shaking with the effort of keeping yourself up. The Matron heaved an annoyed sigh, but you knew that she would not argue. You knew, because you had seen what would happen._

_“Very well. I will have one of the Keepers clean and dress her and deliver her to Azrael,” she said._

_“Is there a chance she could be used against us?” the stranger asked._

_“No.” The Matron stared down at you, watched as you collapsed once more to the floor. “Her mind is too splintered. And Azrael will likely put her down like a dog himself.”_

_You let your eyes slip closed, pleased. The prophecy would come to pass, and you would have your freedom at last._

_Death would, almost certainly, come for you. But not then, and not there._

\---

Waking up in a cold sweat, you shivered and drew the blankets closer around you. It had been a while since you’d dreamed about your escape, choosing not to revisit those days. Most of it had been a feverish haze, anyways, and you still did not know what had been real and what had been a hallucination. After you’d first been delivered to the old fortune teller, you’d slipped in and out of consciousness for days while she treated your wounds and killed your fever.

Perhaps there was some meaning to the dream, to your muddled memories. Why else would you suddenly be thinking of them again?

Head aching, you finally dragged yourself out of bed. You felt off, sluggish, as you made your way to the bathroom. Maybe you were getting sick, and the fever had triggered your memories. You hoped that was the case, as you weren’t certain that you were prepared to face down your past. Not with everything else that you had. Not with demons at the doorstep, waiting for you to find them. Digging out a bottle of aspirin from the medicine cabinet, you swallowed two of the pills and stared at your reflection.

What did other people see when they looked at you? What did they think of you? Were there some who thought of you much as the Keepers and Matron had, that you were simply an object? Or were there more who saw you as a person, much like Jason did? You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You still didn’t really feel like a person. You were more like a ghost, floating through life, seen by few.

“The fever is getting to you,” you told your reflection before turning away.

Shrugging out of your clothes, you drew yourself a hot bath. Gathering a few of the dried herbs that you’d stashed away, you dropped lavender, chamomile, and rosebuds into the water. As the steam rose, a distinct floral aroma rose with it, soothing your frayed nerves. You slipped into the water, letting out a soft hiss. Once you’d lowered yourself fully, you relaxed, let the heat loosen your knotted muscles and soothe the prickling of your scars. Your eyes slipped closed and you let your head fall back to rest against the tiled shower wall. Fingers tingling, you let your hands slide into the water as well. Submerged, you could ignore that constant static under your skin, dampen it.

For just a short period of time, you could be something approaching a normal girl. Relaxed, you began to drift off, the soothing scent of lavender and chamomile carrying you away.

Until you heard someone kick in your front door. Jolting in the water, your heart pounded as you heard the splintering of wood and a deep grunt. You bit your lip to keep from screaming and reached for a towel, carefully drawing yourself out of the bath and trying not to make a sound. However, the water sloshed as you stepped out, and you froze, breath catching in your chest.

“One-Two?!” you heard a familiar voice cry out, boots pounding towards the bathroom.

“Jason?” you asked, voice squeaking. You quickly wrapped the towel around yourself, flush rising to your cheeks. “H-hold on, I’m—”

Ignoring you, he stormed into the bathroom. You stared at him with wide eyes, freezing in place, hands clasping the towel around your chest. He froze as well, gun in hand. The only sound was the slow drip of water from the ends of your hair to the tile. Abruptly, he looked away from you, lowering his gun and tips of his ears flushing.

“Sorry,” he grunted. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Is something wrong?” you asked, voice still small as you shrunk in on yourself.

You were going to have to call your landlord to fix your door again, and you were not looking forward to that conversation. He’d been angry the first time you called him out, and you weren’t really sure how to explain your current situation. ‘One of my clients burst in while I was taking a bath’ would just make him demand an additional security deposit.

“How fast can you get dressed?” Jason countered.

“Um… fairly fast,” you told him, confused and still a little frightened. “Jason, what—”

“Just get dressed, throw together an overnight bag too,” he told you. “I’ll explain once we get out of here.”

“Jason,” you pressed, fingers shaking, “I can’t just leave.”

“You’re not safe here, not right now,” he answered, still cryptic. “Please, One-Two. Just trust me on this.”

Well, you’d trusted him before. You could trust him again, as you knew, bone deep, that the man only had your best interests in mind. When you gave a soft sound of assent, he left to wait in the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him.

Shaken, you quickly pulled on clothes, braiding your still damp hair and throwing your toiletries and some clothes into a beaten up backpack before you emerged. Jason looked up, face impassive. If he was embarrassed, he didn’t show it. Instead, he motioned to your bag.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Tossing your deck in and slipping The Lovers card into your pocket, you shrugged your coat on and put on your boots before giving him a quiet nod. As he led you out, you made a note that the door wasn’t _too_ damaged. After a moment of tugging hard and Jason forcing it back into the frame with a grunt, you were able to lock it. Then Jason was steering you down the stairs, hand tucked into his jacket to rest on his holstered gun. The tension radiating off him was frightening you, your fingers shaking as you pulled up your hood and he bent close to speak in a low voice.

“Keep your head down,” he murmured, his other hand resting on your back. “If I tell you to run, I want you to run as fast as you can without looking back, okay?”

“Jason, you’re scaring me,” you responded, voice wavering.

His fingers flexed against your back, but he’d positioned himself onto your left side, so you couldn’t see him without turning your head. When you started to turn towards him, he’d let out a low warning hiss, and you’d ducked down once more. He was moving fast, and you had to jog to keep up with his long strides. By the time he finally stopped, pulling you into a dimly lit coffee shop, you were out of breath.

“Will you please tell me what’s going on?” you gasped, bracing your hands on your knees.

“I’m really sorry, One-Two.” Jason had rested a hand on your back, maneuvering so that you could finally see him. Concern creased his brow, but it was the fear in his eyes that gave you pause. “I needed to get you out and to a populated place fast.”

“Why?” you asked, still panting and pushing your hood back. “Is it the demons?”

“No.” He frowned, helping you sit down in an armchair and crouching down in front of you. “I got an alert from one of my informants that Azrael was asking around about you and headed for your apartment.”

You blinked. Ah. Now you understood why you’d had the dream. It had been almost a year since you’d last seen Azrael. Or, well, not Azrael; rather, it had been a while since you had seen Jean-Paul Valley. But the realization quickly bled into confusion.

“Why is that a problem?” you asked him.

Jason stared up at you, face frozen in disbelief.

“Wh… what do you mean? The guy’s a zealot assassin,” he said.

“Ah.” You winced. Right. You hadn’t told him any details about who had raised you. “Um, so. The thing is, he’d never hurt me.”

“How do you know that?” Jason demanded, visibly trying to keep himself calm and not raise his voice.

“Because,” you told him, voice barely a whisper, “Azrael is the one who brought me to Gotham.”

Realization washed over Jason visibly, coming in separate waves. You remained silent, a pit growing in your stomach when his expression settled into something cold.

“Explain,” he said.

“The compound that I was raised in was a small sect of the Sacred Order of St Dumas,” you told him, fingers curling in your lap. “About two years ago, Azrael went AWOL and started attacking some of the smaller offshoots, mostly ones that focused on any kind of human experimentation and testing. I’d given the woman who ran the compound a purposely false prophecy, and during my punishment, I saw his rampage, that he was heading to the compound. I knew that my only way to escape was to offer myself up as a peace offering to him so that he wouldn’t kill everyone there. Most of my journey from the compound to Gotham is a blur, since I was badly injured and running a high fever. But the gambit worked, as far as I know. He wouldn’t tell me if he killed everyone inside anyways, but when I fully came to, I was in the care of the old fortune teller. He’s only visited me twice since I came here, but he’s never been a threat to me.”

You watched, terrified, as Jason absorbed this information. Although you hadn’t lied to him when you’d originally told him about yourself, you had purposely omitted any information about the Order. He let out a long, heavy sigh.

“So, I basically just kicked in your door, walked in on you taking a bath, and scared you for nothing,” he muttered.

“Um.” You cleared your throat, hands twisting in your lap. “Essentially. I do appreciate the concern, though.”

“The guy’s still active with the Order, though,” he pointed out, frowning up at you. “How do you know that he wasn’t coming to kill you this time?”

That was a good point, actually. You didn’t know that. Jean-Paul had visited you only to use your services before, an unsanctioned prophecy that couldn’t be traced. While you’d always assumed he would never hurt you since he was your savior, there was still an element of danger there.

“I don’t know that,” you admitted. “I’ve just always trusted him. He did save me, after all.”

“You do trust pretty easy,” he frowned. With a sigh, he stood up and scooted another arm chair closer to yours. “Just to be safe, I think you should lay low for a while.”

“But my clients—”

“Will still be there when you come back,” Jason interrupted. “Look, if all of this is just me overreacting, fair enough. But I’d rather err on the side of caution than risk you getting hurt. You said that the two demons are waiting for us somewhere, right?”

“Oh.” You blinked, then nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

Jason reached into his pocket, unfolding a map and smoothing it out on the table in front of you.

“How about this,” he said. “You take a look at this map, try to focus in on the demons and see if you can find where they are. I’ll go get both of us some coffee. Sound good?”

You gave a small nod, slinging your backpack down in front of you and shrugging out of your coat. Jason gave a small nod back before getting up, his fingers lingering on your shoulder as he passed behind you to order your coffee. Frowning, you leaned forward and studied the map. You slipped a hand into your pocket and pulled out The Lovers. Your left hand tingled where you touched it, your right twitching. Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on the feeling. You knew that Lilith was involved, at least, even if you weren’t certain of the other party yet. But your hand only hovered over the map, uncertain of where to point to. Cracking one eye open, you made sure that Jason’s back was turned to you before you raised your left hand and bit down hard on the thin skin between your thumb and index finger. It was a small pain, your teeth barely breaking the skin, but enough for a short series of images to flash through your mind. Shoving the card and your stinging hand in your pocket, a static burst went through the fingers of your right hand, scar tingling, before you were lurching forward and slapping your hand down. Your fingers twitched before your index finger finally landed on a city.

“Find somethin’?” Jason asked, coffee in each hand.

“Yeah.” You looked up at him, tapping your finger against the map. “They’re in Providence.”

“Good job,” he said with a grin, handing off your coffee. “How’d you make that happen?”

“Um.” Well. You couldn’t tell the truth on this one. “Just concentrated as hard as I could, and my hand drifted there.”

Luckily, Jason didn’t question it. Instead, he sat back down and took a sip of his coffee.

“About a four and a half or five hour drive up there, depending on traffic,” he said, frowning down at the map. “We can go back to my place, grab Schnitzel, and then hit the road.”

Since you’d come to Gotham, you’d never ventured outside of the city. It was an exciting prospect, but also a bit terrifying. What waited for you in Providence? Would it be just as busy as Gotham? It had taken you so long just to get used to the city, how would you react to being brought somewhere else? You sipped at your coffee, watching Jason as he muttered to himself, folding the map back up and bringing up routes on his phone. Finally, he glanced back at you, catching your gaze.

“You good to come with?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said with a small nod. “I’m good.”

Jason grinned and stood up, offering you his hand.

“Alright, One-Two. Let’s get going, then.”

\---

The ride to Providence was long, and you spent most of it asleep, Schnitzel sitting on the center console with his head in your lap. Since you had never learned how to drive, Jason had driven his truck the whole way, making a few stops to get snacks, use the restroom, and get gas. Your dreams had been troubled, and when Jason woke you up, you blinked away fading images of fire and blood, screams and strange languages you could not understand. Sitting up, you glanced out the window, watching buildings race by.

“Just got in city limits,” Jason told you, eyes on the road. “There should be a motel nearby we can stay in.”

“This place feels strange,” you mumbled, flexing your tingling fingers.

“Well, it is Lovecraft Country,” he said with a chuckle, glancing at you for a moment. “I would’ve been surprised if you didn’t feel like this place was off.”

“Can you feel it, too?” you asked.

“… Yeah,” he said after a moment, brow furrowing. “Feels like there’s something hiding just beneath the surface. Like… the city itself is just a thin veneer over something darker.”

You let out a soft hum, frowning. Granted, you had no real idea of just how sensitive Jason was to the supernatural, since you’d never asked and he’d never told you, but you thought it was a bad omen that he could feel it, too. The skies were a dark gray, the sunset muted by the heavy storm clouds gathering above the city. Pressing your fingertips against the window, you shivered at how cold the glass had gotten. Providence was even colder than Gotham had been, and you bundled your coat closer to yourself as Jason parked in the lot of a small motel, flickering neon informing you that it had vacancies. Turning off the engine, he turned to you.

“Stay in the truck with Schnitzel while I get us a room,” he said.

You gave a small nod. He reached out to give the dog a pat on the head before getting out, closing the door behind him and jogging to the office. Sinking lower in the seat, you let Schnitzel clamber into your lap, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his fur. The longer you sat there, the more uncomfortable you felt, the storm under your skin picking up. Was it because of your proximity to the demons you were seeking? Or was it just Providence itself?

A tap on the window startled you, making you whip your head around. Jason stood outside, giving you an apologetic grin as he held up a key. Willing your heart to calm back down, you gently pushed Schnitzel out of your lap and opened the door. Once you were out, the dog followed, patiently waiting for you to clip the leash to his harness while Jason retrieved your bags from the truck bed. You shivered as you followed him to a room on the first floor, the door opening with a click.

“Hope you don’t mind that I only got one room,” he said, tossing the bags on the armchair in the corner. “There’s two beds, but I thought it’d be safe for us to both share the room, just in case.”

“I don’t mind,” you told him, closing the door behind you and kneeling to take the harness off Schnitzel. “How many nights do we have the room for?”

“Three,” Jason yawned, throwing himself onto the bed closest to the door. “If we need longer, we can always go to the office to ask for an extension.”

“Mm, I think that should be enough time.” You watched him kick off his boots, splaying out over the comforter. “Do you want to take a nap? I’m… sorry that I couldn’t do any driving.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he cracked one eye open, grinning. “I like driving. But yeah… a nap would be nice. That okay?”

You shrugged.

“I don’t mind. I may take a walk, just so I can get a better feeling of where the demons might be.”

“Be careful if you do. Take Schnitzel, too.”

You simply nodded, digging into your bag for the paperback you’d thrown in there. By the time you found it and glanced over at Jason, he was already asleep, snoring softly. Lips twitching into a half-smile, you climbed into the other bed and sat down, opening up the book. Schnitzel hopped up onto the bed with you, curling up at your feet. Propped up on the pillows, you let yourself fall into the story, the prickling of your scars forgotten as you immersed yourself.

By the time you set down the book, a couple of hours had passed, according to the blinking digital clock on the side table. You glanced over at Jason. He was still asleep, turned on his side towards you, hair mussed and one hand tucked under the pillow. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him look so at peace before, so relaxed. Sliding out of bed, you reached forward and tugged the blanket at the end of the bed up to cover him. Jason didn’t even twitch, deep in whatever dreams he was having. Clicking your tongue to get Schnitzel’s attention, you put the harness back on him, snatched the key, and zipped your jacket up, hood pulled forward and scarf tight around your neck before you headed out.

Providence was alien. Snow crunching under your boots and Schnitzel trotting along at your side, you observed the strange city. Much of the architecture seemed similar to what you’d seen in the Old Gotham district, although it was much less dingy, and had far more red brick. The colonial buildings were interspersed with newer businesses and homes, tattoo parlors and traditional diners. You made a note of each street that you turned down so that you could find your way back to the motel, your phone set to ring in case Jason woke up and called you to see where you were. Towering skeletal trees were sentinels on the street, dusted with snow and encased in ice.

The further you ventured into the city, the more discomforted you felt. Shadows seemed to stretch far too long, flickering shapes appearing in the corner of your eye only to disappear when you turned your head. Schnitzel had positioned himself to walk on your blind side, but brushed against your leg to let you know he was there. The sun set and night fell over Providence, flickering streetlights lighting your way. You found yourself pulled along by some invisible rope, confidently following the tug at your soul until you were standing in front of an Athenian-style building, the doors locked already. Your breath fogged in front of your face as you stared up at the building. Something about it called to you, although you weren’t entirely sure what it was. Schnitzel sat patiently at your side, tail wagging.

“I’m afraid that we’ve closed up for the night.”

You jumped at the voice that came from your blind side, turning towards it. The man who had spoken gave you a small smile.

“I apologize,” he said, voice deep and holding a hint of an accent you couldn’t quite place. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Oh,” you breathed, “no, that’s okay. I’m sorry, I just… wanted to look, I guess.”

There was something about the man that was… familiar. You had no idea what it was, though, as you were certain that you’d never seen him before. After all, you’d never been anywhere close to Providence. He wore a dark, tailored suit, his black hair greying at the temples and dark skin creased around his hazel eyes. Although he appeared young, his eyes looked ancient, wise and knowing as they watched you.

“We’ll be open tomorrow, if you want to stop by again,” he told you.

“That would be nice.” You glanced down at Schnitzel. The dog was calm, yawning as he settled down to lay on your feet. “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is this?”

The man let out a soft laugh, amused.

“You came here and didn’t know what the building was?” he asked, grinning when you flushed in embarrassment. “I don’t mind you asking, though. This is the Providence Athenaeum. It’s an independent, member-supported library that’s been around for almost 200 years.”

“Oh.” You blinked, looking back up at the building. Perhaps there was something in the library, something you needed to find. The tug was still there, a pull that had your fingers curling and uncurling. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.” The man gestured to Schnitzel. “That’s a beautiful dog. What’s his name?”

“This is Schnitzel.” You glanced down, watched the dog stand up and sniff at the man’s fingers when he held them out. “He actually belongs to my friend, but I wanted to take him out for a walk.”

The man bent to give Schnitzel a few scratches behind the ear before standing straight again, shrugging on his coat and giving you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s getting late, so we should both be heading back. The streets here can be strange at night,” he told you. “If you do come back tomorrow, ask for Sam. I can help you with whatever you need.”

You blinked, a chill going down your spine at his warning. But you still nodded, clutching Schnitzel’s leash a bit tighter.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Of course. Be safe getting back.”

With one last knowing smile, he gave you a small nod and strode down the sidewalk. You glanced down at Schnitzel, who yawned again, before retracing your steps back towards the motel. The pull was still there, but much easier to ignore now that you knew where it led. You stopped briefly in a convenience store to grab some snacks and drinks, pausing to feed a bit of cheese to Schnitzel. By the time you got back, Jason was awake, sitting in the armchair with a laptop. He glanced up when you entered, face softening.

“Have a good walk?” he asked.

“Yeah.” You set down the bag of food and drinks to take the harness off Schnitzel, jerking away when the dog licked at your face. “I got some stuff to eat. Also found a library that I’d like to go back to, tomorrow.”

Jason’s face lit up, although you weren’t sure if it was because of the mention of food or the library. Probably a combination of the two. You retrieved a bottle of water and a bag of chips, both of you settling into a comfortable silence for the night. When you shuffled into the bathroom to change into pajamas and then slid under the sheets, Jason flicked off the lights, illuminated by only the screen of his computer. You lay down, pausing for a moment to glance back at him.

“Good night, Jason,” you murmured.

“Good night, One-Two,” he told you, smile illuminated.

When sleep finally took you, you dreamed of dark feathers and large figures in the distance, gradually coming closer and closer.

\---

The next morning, you woke to the smell of coffee and fresh baked pastries, eyes slowly cracking open. You could not see Jason, but faintly heard the shower running. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you dragged yourself out of bed. A large to-go cardboard carafe of coffee with two little cups sat on the desk next to the armchair, along with a box that, when you opened it, held a variety of little pastries that you couldn’t place. Pouring yourself coffee and picking up one that looked to be filled with lemon and icing, you settled into the armchair with your legs tucked under you.

By the time Jason came out of the bathroom, you’d finished a second pastry (which had been stuffed with a sausage and was _delightful_ ) and had pulled out your phone to let the clients who’d reached out to you know that you would be out of town for the next few days. When you looked up, sipping at your coffee, you realized that he was not wearing a shirt. A towel was draped over his head, jeans slung low on his hips. You froze. Most of your experience with male physiology came from accidentally catching one of the boys in the compound in the showers and from the covers of your romance books.

Jason did not look like any of the illustrated men or malnourished boys you had seen. Face flushing in embarrassment, you quickly looked away, the cup of coffee in your hand suddenly fascinating. Jason cleared his throat, quickly retrieving a shirt and pulling it on.

“Sorry!” he spluttered, the towel doing a bad job of hiding his flushed face when you looked back up. “I, uh, thought you were still asleep.”

“Um, it’s okay,” you managed to say, taking another sip of your coffee. “Thank you for getting breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.” Visibly relaxing from the change of subject, Jason ruffled his hair with the towel before dropping it at the foot of the bed. “Do you like the kolaches?”

“Is that what they’re called?” You glanced back at the box, stretching enough to grab another of the sausage ones. “They’re delicious. Especially the ones with sausage.”

“Glad you like them.” He grabbed one of the fruit pastries, popping it whole in his mouth as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Lucky there was a Polish bakery close by.”

“So,” you said, finishing off your first cup of coffee and letting him pour you another. “What is the plan for today?”

“I figured we could go to that library you found first,” he said through a mouthful of kolache. “Let you do what you need to, and I can see what I can find, too. Then we go from there.”

“Fair enough.” You took another sip of coffee before standing up, stretching your arms over your head and grunting as you felt your joints pop. “I’ll take a quick shower, if that’s okay.”

“Go for it.” Jason sat on the edge of the desk and motioned to the bathroom.

Gathering your clothes quickly, you ducked in and pressed your forehead against the door once it had clicked shut. When you closed your eyes, all you could see was the y-shaped scar on his torso, the dark hair on his chest. Shaking your head, you slapped at your flushed cheeks before stepping into the shower. The warm water did nothing to help, and you found yourself brushing your hair a bit less gently than usual. By the time you emerged, you couldn’t look at Jason. If you did, you found your eyes drawn to his chest, or his messy hair. If he noticed that something was wrong, he didn’t say anything.

You weren’t sure what was wrong with you, but you needed to get over it before it got any worse.

\---

The Athenaeum looked different in the dim morning light. Fresh snow coated the ground as you approached it, Jason just behind you. He’d been excited when you told him that was where you were going, had regaled you with tales of Edgar Allen Poe visiting the library and wooing the object of his affections there, informed you that H.P. Lovecraft had spent much of his time there, as well. You’d enjoyed it, fought back a smile when you saw the way his face lit up as he talked about the writers. Once you’d stopped in front of the building, he paused, glancing down at you.

“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile, “I didn’t mean to ramble like that.”

“Oh, no, I enjoyed it,” you told him. “It’s nice to hear someone talk about things they care about. I’m glad that you’re able to come here and enjoy the library.”

“Me, too.” His eyes softened as he turned back to look at the building. “Take your time. I’m definitely not going to be in a rush.”

Letting out a soft laugh, you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. Jason had turned to you with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

“No… no need to apologize. I just don’t think I’ve heard you laugh before,” he said.

“Hey, let’s go inside!” You pushed at his back, head ducked to hide your flushed cheeks.

Jason obliged, but not before letting out a little chuckle of his own. Still embarrassed, you brushed back your hood and unwound your scarf when you stepped inside.

The building was massive, rows upon rows of tall shelves lining the brightly lit space. Desks were set up as well, quite a few of them filled even at an early hour. As you shrugged off your jacket, you found yourself feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sheer size. The pull was still there, tugging gently at you, but you found that your anxiety was overwhelming it. It was just… too much. Even though it was quiet, you found yourself shrinking, wide eyes flicking from one corner of the building to another. Jason noticed, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“It’s just… a lot,” you whispered. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You want me to stick with you?”

You shook your head, taking a deep breath and giving him a shaking smile.

“No, it’s fine,” you told him. “Go ahead. I’ll find you when I get what I need.”

“You sure?” He looked hesitant.

“I’m sure.” You gave him a little push. “Go, enjoy it.”

Jason lingered for a moment longer, concerned, before he finally gave a small nod and wandered off into the stacks. Once he was out of sight, you slumped, tugging at the end of your braid nervously. Where did you even start? The pull was there, but the amount of information you were facing down was still overwhelming. Just as you were about to spiral into catastrophizing, someone stepped up next to you.

“I see you came back,” the man from the previous night said.

“Oh!” You blinked up at him, a curious wave of calm washing over you in his presence. “Y-yes, I did.”

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” he asked you. “You were looking a bit overwhelmed.”

“Well…” You hesitated, uncertain of just how honest you wanted to be with him. “I suppose I’m looking for any books you have on the occult.”

The man—Sam, you remembered—raised an eyebrow, but otherwise did not seem affected by the request. Instead, he merely motioned for you to follow him. You did so, the pull tugging you along after him. Your right palm itched, and you rubbed it against your jeans, grimacing. Sam led you up a flight of stairs and towards a darker section of the stacks. You passed by statues and busts, the Greek architecture seeming to warp as you moved further and further back. Shadows lengthened, hair on the back of your neck standing on end as your feet moved you further and further onward.

Even if you did want to stop, you weren’t sure if you would be able to.

Finally, Sam came to a stop in front of a large desk, a figure stepping out of the shadowy stacks behind it. The sense of calm that you’d felt next to Sam vanished when they stepped forward. A tall woman approached you, her skin dark and hair falling in even darker curls. The dress she wore was pure black, fitting her figure snugly. But it was her eyes that made your blood run cold. They were a bright, burning red, piercing straight through you and into your soul. You shivered as she stopped just behind the desk, flashing sharp white teeth in an expression that almost resembled a smile.

“Hello, dear,” she said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“You’re Lilith,” you whispered, static prickling your palm as you raised it to press over your pounding heart.

“Correct.” She gave you a small nod, her eyes never leaving yours as she leaned forward, closer to you. “And it seems you’ve already met my partner, Samael.”

Samael. The angel of death, partner of Lilith, one of the Watchers who had taken human wives and given birth to the Nephilim. Breaking eye contact with Lilith, you stared up at him, the shadows behind him flickering for a moment in a shape that resembled a mass of dark wings.

“You seem scared,” Samael said, his smile not unkind.

“I am,” you admitted, taking one small, shaking step away from him. “You… both of you want to kill my friend.”

“Want is a very strong word,” Lilith told you with a sigh. “Some of our kin wish to kill him, yes. But for us, it’s less of a desire and more of a professional obligation. And unlike that idiot Orias, we don’t wish to harm you.”

“Do you want me to work for you, like Belial?” you asked.

“No,” Samael said. “We don’t want to force you to do anything that you aren’t willing to.”

Confused, you glanced between the two. Why wasn’t your skin on fire like it had been with the others? Why were you not panicking, screaming for Jason?

“You have questions,” Lilith said, not unkindly. She’d rounded the desk, sat back on it to tilt her head and regard you with her fiery eyes.

“You aren’t like the other two,” you blurted. Your hand was still pressed over your heart, pulse thundering under your palm. “I… you just…”

“We aren’t like the other two,” Lilith explained, “because we aren’t demons. Well, not really. We are both simply very old agents of death and destruction, doing what duty asks of us.”

“Hell does not have explicit ownership of us,” Samael added, “and so while we are compelled to return the souls that death has claimed, we are not as… depraved as the agents of Hell sometimes are.”

“But you knew that I would find you.” You glanced between the two of them, more confused than you had been at the start. “You… you know that Jason is here,” you added, fear finally sinking in.

“We do know that,” Lilith admitted. She sighed, shaking her head. “But you have no reason to be afraid. We don’t wish to reclaim his gift.”

“What?” You frowned at her. “Why not? I… the cards said that you were the next two…”

“We are.” Samael moved to stand next to Lilith, resting a hand on her back. “But that doesn’t mean that we are looking to fulfill our duty of killing him. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“I don’t understand,” you whispered.

“Sometimes, death can be cruel,” Lilith explained. “It takes what it shouldn’t, and stakes claims on lives that should not have been snuffed out so early. When we received the contract for Jason Todd, we kept a close eye on him. The poor boy was only fifteen when he was murdered, killed in a cruel, heartless way. It was a miracle that brought him back, and another terrible miracle of the Pit that restored his mind. Despite this, he still seeks to help those who are so frequently left behind. People like yourself, 127.”

You flinched at the designation number. It felt like a blow, although you weren’t certain why. You’d grown so used to it, to the idea that you were lesser. An object, nothing more and nothing less. Seeing the way it stung, Lilith reached out, her long nails ghosting gently along your jaw. The touch held no malice, but still left shivers in its wake.

“We are well aware that the boy will likely kill us in order to ensure his own survival,” Samael said. “He wouldn’t be the first. Many have succeeded before him.”

“What?”

“Being what we are, we never truly die,” Lilith said with a shrug. “We are simply reborn, going through the same cycle time and time again.”

“So, you waited and led me here just so… you could die?” you asked, brow furrowed. “That makes no sense.”

“Mm, perhaps not to you,” Samael responded. “But we can’t hold that against you. You are simply an Elioud.”

“A… what?”

Lilith and Samael glanced at each other, grief in their expressions when they turned back to you.

“You truly have been deprived, haven’t you?” Samael asked, voice soft. “You are an Elioud, a child of the Nephilim. A distant descendant of the Watchers. One of my children.”

An Elioud. Not a Nephilim, but an entirely different race removed from them. Divine blood so vastly diluted that you were more human than anything else, but just enough remaining that you could not classify yourself as a person. Lifting your hand from your chest, you stared at your palm, the scar flickering in the shadows.

“Perhaps we’ve only left you more confused than you had been before,” Lilith said. “But know this: while we may not be heroes, we are not the villains of your story, either. We are simply a necessary step that must be taken on the journey laid before you and the Lazarus.”

“But we can give you clarity,” Samael added. “Please, give me your hand.”

You hesitated, fingers curling into a fist. Was this a trick? But even if it was, you couldn’t afford to say no to two incredibly powerful beings. So, reluctantly, you offered your right hand to the Watcher. He took it, fingers uncomfortably warm as they wrapped around your wrist. His other hand pushed up your sleeve, exposing the skin of your forearm. A patchwork of scars littered the inside of it, so he turned your arm so that your palm was facing the ground. Lilith leaned forward, brushing a fingertip over a scar just above your wrist.

“Do not fight it,” she told you. “Give in to it and let yourself see.”

That was all the warning you got before she dug her nail into the skin just below your elbow and slashed. Pain lanced through you, a soft cry falling past your lips. The euphoric rush of a vision took over, your limbs melting and your blood turning effervescent. Vaguely, you were aware of Samael holding you. But when you turned your fevered eyes to him, you saw him for what he truly was. A myriad of burning eyes stared back at you, dozens of wings covered in pitch black, razor sharp feathers sprouting from his skeletal back. Lilith’s tongue was burning hot as it traced the path of the wound, lapping at the blood that ran down your skin. Her own form flickered, pupils narrowing into slits and her hair turning into slithering, toothy tentacles, fingers far too long and skin as dark as the shadows.

Then the visions hit you, eyes rolling back into your head, your limbs locking.

_Small hands clawing at the dirt, scorched and abused flesh dragging itself from the grave. A green pool of tepid water, full of whispering voices and screams, secrets too terrible to comprehend and knowledge that was not meant to be learned. Blood and fire and war, anger and hatred and rejection. A mighty fall and a slow rise. Bloody teeth and split knuckles. Shadows flickering, eyes watching from the darkness. A miracle and a curse._

_Terrible beings donning the skin of men, prowling the earth and claiming women to bear monstrous children. Giants in the distance, laying waste to the land as their mothers screamed. A great Flood, one of fire and blood, men and monsters both purged. Babes spirited away, kept secret, kept safe. Secrets locked away in the flesh, spilled only with blood. Weapons and saviors both. Long white hallways, babies tagged with numbers instead of names, never to know the love of a mother. The first kiss of a razor._

_Eight shadows, all misshapen, waiting for their chance to strike. The long stretch of road, rolling plains and barren fields and great mountain ranges. Snow and ice, rain and thunder. Blood spilling, leading the way. A flaming sword, trailing closer and closer, yearning to split flesh and take life. Blades anointed with the blood of the fallen, bullets blessed with the tears of the stricken. A gift not to be taken, another gift to be given. A beating heart in your hands, the rhythm a sweet lullaby._

With a sharp intake of breath, you came back to yourself, crumpled on the linoleum floor. Lilith and Samael both stood above you, donning their human disguises once more. Licking the blood from her lips, Lilith held her hand out to you.

“Do you see?” she asked.

“I see.” Your voice was weak, fingers shaking as you accepted her hand. Even when you were on your feet, you were off balance, dizzy. How much had you bled? “But… I don’t understand.”

“That will come with time,” Samael told you. When you met his eyes, you now realized that they were the same color as your own. “You’ve already spent far too much time here, and the Lazarus grows concerned. Go, and return tomorrow with him at your side.”

“One last thought, before you go,” Lilith said. Her hand cupped your cheek, serpentine eyes far kinder than you would have expected from a demon who had dined on your blood. “Answer me this, little oracle: When is a monster not a monster?”

Immediately, your mind supplied the answer. You recognized it, from a book of poetry you’d read months ago.

“Oh,” you whispered, “when you love it.”

Lilith smiled, affection in her gaze as she slipped her hand from your skin. You nearly chased the touch, but held back. Slowly, you retreated, making your way back towards the light with their ancient gazes at your back. In a daze, you wandered the stacks, feet uncertain without the lure that had drawn you to Lilith and Samael. Eventually you found yourself back at the stairs to the first floor, hand pressed over the seeping wound on your arm. Lilith had cut deep, but the sting had already faded, replaced by a strange static feeling. You spotted Jason at the same time that he saw you. Glowing green eyes flickered to the bloody hand pressed over your arm, and you watched his expression change from relief to concern. In the blink of an eye he had run up the steps, standing in front of you, hands hovering over your wounded arm.

“What happened?” he asked, voice tight with panic.

“I got dizzy and fell,” you lied, found it all too easy to spill from your tongue. You couldn’t tell him, not yet. “My arm must have caught on the edge of a table.”

“Let me see,” he murmured, gently lifting your hand away. His fingers were large and warm where they curled around your wrist and just below the wound. “Shit… that looks painful. Did you…?”

You nodded, watching him closely, fascinated by the way his eyes narrowed and widened, muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching as he assessed the wound. When his gaze caught your own, you did not look away.

His eyes, you realized, were the same color as the whispering depths in your vision.

“What did you see?” he asked, keeping his voice low so that the other patrons could not hear.

“I… I don’t know if I understood it all,” you admitted. “But I saw them. Lilith and Samael.”

“Where? Are we in danger?”

“No.” You shook your head, weary and woozy. “They’re here, in the library. But… but we can’t go to see them until tomorrow.”

“Why not?” Jason asked, alarmed when you shifted to lean against him. “One-Two?”

“I’m very tired,” you mumbled. “And… we can’t see them until tomorrow, because that is what destiny dictates.”

Jason cursed under his breath, guiding your arm around his shoulders. Wrapping a strong arm around your waist, he pressed you into his side and let you lean heavily against him as he helped you down the steps. He tugged your sleeve down and helped you get your jacket back on, tucking you back against his side and holding you up as you left the building. Pulling your hood up, you let him slowly lead you back towards the motel, his body heat strangely comforting in the frigid winter air. Once you were back, he had you sit on the edge of the tub, peeling your jacket off and rolling your sleeve back up.

“This is probably gonna hurt,” he warned you, coming back in with a first aid kit.

“That’s fine,” you mumbled, eyelids heavy as he knelt on the floor in front of you. “Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Jason asked, taking out antiseptic wipes and gently wiping at the edges of the wound before moving to wipe at the split flesh.

When you winced and let out a soft hiss, he mumbled a quiet apology. You waited until he was finished, a few residual flashes of the vision you’d seen fading, before you answered him.

“I… I don’t know. I’m just sorry.”

With a heavy sigh, Jason tossed the bloody wipes in the trash and pressed a gauze pad over the wound, hands gentle as he wrapped bandages around it. Once he was finished, he sat back on his heels, eyes glowing in the dark room.

“Look, One-Two, accidents happen sometimes,” he told you. “It’s not your fault you got hurt, and it’s not your fault that whatever vision you had really took a toll on you. I’m just glad that you’re okay. If you’d hit your head instead of your arm, you could’ve gotten a concussion.”

Guilt sat heavy in your gut. But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him the truth. If Jason knew that you’d already found the beings that he was hunting, that you’d let them slice you open and drink your blood… He would be upset. More than upset. You were so tired of making him upset, simply by existing. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you gently rested a hand over the bandages.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?” he asked, a tiny smile curving one corner of his lips.

“For caring.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, and you couldn’t make yourself look at him. Not now. Not when the backs of your eyes felt hot from holding back tears.

So, when he reached forward and pulled you into a tight embrace, your face tucked into his chest and his hand gripping the back of your head, you were taken by surprise. You blinked, felt his shuddering breaths against your skin, his other hand clutching at the back of your shirt. Slowly, you brought your own arms up, hugging him back. You just stayed like that for a moment, breathing in the smell of his skin, feeling the way his heart hammered in his chest. When he pulled back, he kept his hands on your shoulders, ducking his head to look you in the eye.

“You don’t ever have to thank me for that, okay?” he said, an edge to his voice. Desperation, maybe. But it was raw, bleeding. “You deserve to have someone care about you, One-Two. You do.”

Did you? Once up on a time, you would have immediately dismissed the thought. You were not a thing to be cared for. But now? Now, you wondered. Now, you felt doubt. You tried your best to offer him a wavering, watery smile, hands falling to rest in your lap.

“I’m still thankful,” you admitted, voice cracking. You cleared your throat, fingers twisting into the thick fabric of your jeans. “Despite the troubles, I’m glad that Destiny brought us together. You… you’re a good friend, Jason.”

“Hey, I’m glad, too.” Jason grinned, reaching up to ruffle your hair again. “Now, come on. You look exhausted. Get some rest.”

“Okay,” you said with a small nod.

Jason helped you back up, kept a hand on your back until you threw yourself into the bed you’d claimed. Pulling off your boots, you tucked yourself under the blankets, resting your aching head on the pillows. Turning off the lights, Jason retreated to the arm chair, flipping on the dim lamp before pulling a book out of his bag. You couldn’t see the cover, and you would have asked, but your eyes were already slipping closed.

As sleep claimed you once more, you found some comfort in the soft sound of Jason turning the pages of his book, keeping silent watch with Schnitzel by his side.

\---

Once you’d woken up, Jason had gone to pick up dinner, bringing back hearty, greasy burgers and thick, crisp French fries with huge, piping hot cups of hot chocolate. You’d balked at the food, uncertain if you’d ever had anything like it before. But Jason had looked so excited, you didn’t have the heart to turn away the food. A few bites into your burger, you decided that maybe it wasn’t so bad, after all. While he had devoured his quickly, along with his fries, you stopped once half of the burger was eaten and allowed him to eat the rest of your fries. The hot chocolate had a spicy bite to it that you found pleasant, gingerly sipping at it to make sure you didn’t burn your mouth.

“Feeling better?” he asked, finishing off the last of the fries.

“Yes,” you told him, “thank you.”

“Good.” He gave a small nod, getting up to slide a case out from under the bed. “Figured I’d break in before the library opens, take care of the problem quietly, and then get both of us out of here. You sure they’ll be there?”

After a pause, you gave a small nod.

“Great. You stay here with Schnitzel, keep the door locked and don’t open it for anyone.” Jason flipped open the case, taking out the parts for his pistols. “Anything else I should know about your vision?”

“I have to go with you,” you blurted.

Glancing up at you, Jason frowned as he began to assemble the guns.

“Why?” he asked. “No offense, One-Two, but I’d rather keep you out of trouble as much as I can.”

“I just… I have to,” you told him. A lame excuse, but the only what that you had. “Something… there’s something important about these two. I need to be there.”

Jason did not look at all convinced. His jaw clenched as he finished assembly on the first pistol, checking the clip before moving on to the second. He moved quickly and deftly, with a practiced ease.

“If I do let you come,” he said, “and that’s a big if, you have to stay behind me and do what I tell you. If I say to run, you run. If I say to hide, you hide. And I want you to have one of my knives on you to defend yourself.”

_Blades anointed with the blood of the fallen._

“May I see your knives?” you asked him.

After a moment of hesitation, Jason waved you over. Sitting next to him, he laid out a variety of knives in front of you, some small, some nearly as long as your forearm. You let your hand hover over them, gently picking out the ones that made your fingers prickle. Most were small, but one of them was the hunting knife he’d used to sever Belial’s head. Picking that one up first, you gently pricked the tip of your index finger with it. Once blood had welled, you slid the bloody fingertip over the edge, leaving a streak of wet blood. You repeated this with each of the knifes until you were satisfied, sitting back and looking up at Jason.

“Part of your vision?” he asked.

You nodded, taking one of the smaller folding knives that you had not smeared blood onto and setting it to rest on your lap.

“Blades anointed with the blood of the fallen,” you said. “It… it could help.”

“Well, I trust your judgement on it,” Jason said, picking up two silencers and closing the case. “We’ll both need some rest before we head out. I’ll set an alarm for 4 am, and we’ll take the truck just in case we need a quick getaway.”

You simply nodded, watched him carefully lay out each of his weapons, knifes sliding into their sheaths and ammo clips ejected from the pistols. Jason stretched, letting out a grunt, before he grabbed his pajamas from his bag and headed to the bathroom. Settling into the armchair, you flipped off the lights, leaving on only the lamp. When he came back out, he hesitated for a moment when he saw you in the chair instead of in bed.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve already slept enough of the day away,” you said. You tried for a reassuring smile, but were fairly sure that it looked more like a grimace. “Go to sleep.”

With a small frown, Jason slid under the blanket. Schnitzel hopped up on the bed with him, having finished his own dinner. Within minutes, you could hear Jason snoring, the dog’s head resting against his hip. As quietly as you could, you pulled out the book he had been reading from his bag, inspecting the cover. Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes by Edith Hamilton. Curious, you settled into the chair, opening the well-worn book and beginning to read.

When the alarm went off at 4 am, you had not gotten any extra sleep, but you found that you didn’t feel particularly tired. You’d devoured a good chunk of the book, making it through most of Greek myth and into Norse myth. Quickly closing the book and shoving it in his bag as Jason woke, grumbling and swatting at his phone to turn off the alarm, you tried your best to look innocent when he sat up and blearily looked over at you.

“Good morning,” you said, voice bright with false cheer.

Jason simply grunted, hair a mess as he got out of bed. His sweatpants had ridden low on his hips, a small patch of skin visible. You quickly looked away, cheeks flushed as he crouched next to you to pull out fresh clothes. Once he’d returned from changing, wearing all black clothing and adjusting a dark mask, you frowned.

“I… I don’t think that I have any black clothes with me,” you told him.

“That’s fine,” he said, voice raspy from sleep. “Here.”

Reaching into his bag again, he tossed you a black sweatshirt. You caught it, turning it over in your hands before pulling it on. It was enormous, hung loosely off you, the sleeves falling past your fingertips. But it was better than the bright shirt that you had been wearing, you supposed. Your jacket was also dark, and thankfully managed to fit over the hoodie. As you slipped on your boots, Jason loaded his pistols, slipping them into a shoulder holster he’d shrugged on. The knives were hidden in various places on his body, covered by his black leather jacket. Once he’d pulled on dark gloves as well, Jason turned back to you.

“Ready to head out?” he asked, tucking the silencers in his pocket.

“As ready as I can be.”

Giving you a short nod, Jason grabbed both the keys for the room and his truck, letting you exit first and motioning for Schnitzel to stay before he locked the room. You were both silent as you made your way to the truck, the radio playing softly as he drove. The streets were quiet, few people and even fewer vehicles out and about. Thunder rumbled overhead, but you found it more comforting than ominous. After all, it matched the rolling storm under your skin, the pull harder and more urgent than it had been before. You pressed your hand over your racing heart, willing yourself to calm down.

Everything would be fine, in the end. It had to be.

Jason parked a block away from the Athenaeum, hiding the truck in an alley. Once you were both out, he pulled up his hood and the mask, hiding the bottom half of his face. Reaching out, he adjusted your scarf so that it hid your face as well, hood of the sweatshirt falling low over your eyes. Satisfied, he took the lead as you approached the building, sticking to the shadows and slowly, carefully making your way around to the back. Pulling a lockpick kit from his belt, Jason crouched, working on the lock to the backdoor while you kept watch. Within moments, there was an audible click as he unlocked the door with a small hum of satisfaction. Tucking his tools away, he turned back to you.

“Remember what I said earlier,” he whispered. “Stay behind me. Do what I tell you to do. You have your knife?”

You nodded, lifted the back of your shirt to show it tucked into the waistband of your jeans.

“Good.” Jason gave another small nod, pulling one of his pistols from its holster and screwing on a silencer. “Keep quiet. If you see anything before I do, tap my right shoulder twice and point to it. Since you’ve got a blind spot, make sure to keep your head swiveling.”

“Got it.”

After a moment of hesitation, he finally opened the back door, keeping the gun close to his body as he moved. You stayed close behind him, keeping your head on a swivel as you moved. The library was silent, dark. But Jason did not seem to have any issues seeing, navigating easily through the dark stacks. Once you’d made your way to the lobby, a few lights were on, enough for you to just barely see. There was a hard pull in your chest, hard enough to make you stumble into Jason’s back with a muted gasp. He immediately glanced back at you, eyes narrowing. Fingers curling into the back of his jacket, you quietly pointed in the direction of the tug.

With a brief nod, he let you quietly direct him. The shadows shifted as you moved, unseen eyes watching your every movement. Although you knew that you were in no danger, you still found yourself trembling the closer you got to the source of the lure. Jason raised his gun, footsteps silent as you made your way forward. The tug suddenly disappeared, but you did not have any time to warn Jason before a hand covered your mouth, muffling your startled yelp as you were pulled away.

Jason, however, immediately noticed your grip slipping away, spinning on his heel and aiming at a point just over your shoulder. A quiet whimper escaped you, the warm hand over your mouth tightening. There was the quiet sound of wings unfurling, and you knew that it was Samael who held you.

“Please lower your weapon, Lazarus,” he said, voice echoing, sending a shiver down your spine. “We do not wish to harm the little oracle.”

“Let her go, and then I’ll lower the fucking gun,” Jason growled, eyes glowing in the darkness.

Something moved in the shadows behind him, and you let out a startled sound, wriggling in Samael’s grip as you watched Lilith approach him from behind. But Jason did not react, his eyes trained on the creature holding you. Horrified, you watched Lilith raise a clawed hand and bring it down, slashing deep into his back. Jason let out a pained grunt, stumbling forward before whirling around and letting loose several muted shots. You struggled, trying to break out of Samael’s grip as blood dripped to the floor.

These were not the benevolent beings that you had met the previous day. These were not the god-creatures who had shown you the future and let you leave peacefully, given you answers to questions that had not yet been asked.

Samael’s grip turned painful, your back pressed into his broad chest. The hand that was not covering your mouth wrapped around your wrists, restrained you. You sobbed, tears falling hot down your cheeks as you watched Jason try to line up a shot at the distorted figure of Lilith, his breath hitching in pain. You screamed against his palm, fought as hard as you could, thrashed your head side to side and tried to kick the being holding you. When his grip loosened, you wrenched yourself free, reaching behind you and drawing the knife from its sheath. It reflected the dim light, Samael’s burning eyes staring you down.

“Why are you doing this?” you gasped, grip tightening on the handle. “You said that you wouldn’t harm him!”

Samael remained silent, wings flaring behind him as he advanced. You took a shaking step back, the sound of Jason’s own struggle at your back making you shudder. The blade wavered, and you found the storm under your skin roaring, rising to the surface. There was a loud peal of thunder outside, echoing the roar in your veins. Samael reached for you, clawed hand moving closer and closer to you.

Jason wrenched you away, shoving you behind him before he raised the gun and fired. You could not stop the scream that clawed its way from your throat as the bullet pierced Samael’s head, golden blood exploding behind him. You felt the wound as if you had sustained it yourself, a terrible pain just behind your left eye. But it was gone as soon as it had appeared. Samael slumped, form flickering as he fell, lifeless, to the ground. There was a wet gasp behind you, and you turned to find Lilith slumped against one of the shelves. One of the knives you had anointed pierced her chest, dark blood pumping to the floor into a pool around her. Ignoring Jason, you rushed to her, fell to your knees.

“Lilith,” you sobbed. “Why?”

Her smile wavered, a cold, bloody hand coming to press against your cheek.

“So that he would not feel guilt,” she gasped, coughing up a lungful of dark blood. “Our last gift to you.”

Clutching her hand, you let out a choked sob. It felt cruel, the way that they were leaving this world. A terrible gift, one that you were reluctant to take. You pressed her hand to your chest, hoping that she could feel your heart break at her sacrifice.

“You are not a monster,” you whispered, voice breaking.

“We will return to this world, little oracle,” Lilith told you, offering a weak smile, even as the light left her eyes. “Take the vision… and let us guide you…”

With a low keen, you watched her die, her hand going slack in your grip. Jason rested a hand on your shoulder, his eyes soft when you looked up at him.

“We… we should go,” he said.

“Wait,” you mumbled, stumbling to your feet. You leaned forward to close Lilith’s eyes, settling her hands on her lap before pulling the knife from her chest. Despite the violent end she’d met, she looked peaceful. Wiping at your face with the back of your hand, you moved to kneel next to Samael. The fire had gone out in his eyes, and you settled his hands over his chest. Running you hands over his wings, you gently plucked several of his dark feathers. “Okay. I… I am ready to go.”

Jason let you lean against him as you left, arm slung around your shoulders. Gently, he took the bloody knife from your hand, tucking it away. Both of you were silent on the trek back to the truck, as well as the drive back to the motel. It was only once the door had closed behind you that you spoke up.

“Please take off your shirt,” you whispered. When he gave you an alarmed look, you held up your hand to show the blood on it. “You’re injured, Jason, and I should treat the wounds.”

“Right… right.” He shook his head, peeling off his jacket, mask, and unbuckling the holsters before reaching down to pull off his shirt as well. He let out a pained hiss once the garment hit the floor, sitting on the edge of his bed.

You retrieved the first aid kit, soaking one of the towels in warm water before you returned. Settling behind him on your knees, you placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder, pushing him to bend forward so that you could wash the blood from his skin. Thankfully, the wounds did not seem to be deep, but they still looked painful, blood seeping from them even as you washed. Muscles jumped under your touch, a quiet grunt leaving him as you made one last pass. Setting the towel down next to you, you pulled out a small pot of ointment, gently dabbing it over the cuts.

“Samael, the angel,” Jason said, voice strained. “His eyes… they were the same color as yours.”

“Yes,” you confirmed, voice soft. “They were. I believe… I believe that I may be one of his descendants.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, head hanging and shoulders slumping under your touch.

“Why are you apologizing?” you asked, drawing back and wiping your hands on the towel.

“The way Lilith was smiling at you…” He shook his head. “I should have found another solution. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“They acted the way that they did because they did not want you to feel guilt for taking the necessary actions you were forced to,” you told him, gently unrolling strips of gauze to press over the shallow cuts. “It was either you or them, and they gave you every reason to choose to live.”

“But… his eyes…”

“They will be reborn,” you told him, carefully taping down the gauze before moving to sit next to him. “Neither of them will ever truly die. They simply begin the cycle again. I… it was sad, and upsetting, to see them die. But it’s one step closer to your freedom from this. So I can’t say that I regret it.”

Schnitzel trotted up, pressing his snout into Jason’s hand with a quiet whine. You watched him pet the dog, his gaze troubled. Finally, he turned to look at you.

“Will the others be like them?” he asked you.

You shook your head, staring down at your hands, the drying blood in the cracks of your skin.

“No,” you mumbled. “I do not think the others will be like them. I think that they will take pleasure in their cruelty, and in the hunt.”

“Good,” he said, brow furrowed. “I don’t want to kill anyone like that again. Not… not people who are only trying to do their best.”

You hesitated before reaching out, resting a hand on his forearm. You hoped that the touch was reassuring, calming. But your own fingers were still shaking, the feathers in your pocket seeming to weight a ton.

“You are a good person, Jason,” you told him. “You’ve had to make difficult choices. But that does not make your heart any less kind.”

Slowly, Jason moved to rest his other hand over yours. His palm was large and warm, calloused against the back of your hand. The touch was calming, warmth blossoming in your chest as you met his eyes.

“I think that I have a name for you,” he told you. “But only if you’re comfortable with it.”

You tilted your head, considering it. Perhaps… perhaps it was time that you allowed yourself a name. Although you had never taken that step in the past, maybe you could now. Finally, you gave a slow nod.

“Okay,” you told him. “I… I think that I would like that.”

Jason’s lips curved into a soft smile, hair falling into his eyes. Your fingers twitched, curled into a fist before you could reach up and brush it away. How strange, this sudden urge to touch him, to allow yourself the affection. Strange and dangerous.

“Delphi,” he said, voice low. “Where the oracle Pythia resided, in a temple of Apollo. I… it just, I don’t know, seemed fitting.”

“Delphi,” you repeated, letting the sound roll off your tongue.

You thought of the book of mythology he had been reading, the stories of Greek myth. You thought of Lilith and Samael, their affection title of little oracle. And you thought of your own vision, of the giants in the distance and the sterilized halls.

“I think that I like it,” you told him, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “It doesn’t feel uncomfortable.”

“Okay.” Jason’s face lit up. Despite his wounds, despite the pain he must have felt, he looked delighted, his fingers tightening around yours. “From now on, you’ll be Delphi. A good name for a good person.”

Delphi. It was a step in the right direction. It would be strange, being addressed by a name instead of a number.

You helped Jason pull on a fresh shirt, let him settle into the armchair and took Schnitzel out for a walk. Face tipped towards the sky, you watched lightning flash through the clouds.

And, for the first time in your life, you felt at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [slaps this amost 16k update] this bad boy can fit SO MANY cliches in it
> 
> a few notes:
> 
> 1) i've always seen lilith as more of a tragic figure, hence her and samael being tragic monsters in this. also, yes, they are depicted as partners in some legends/myths and samael is "canonically" (although you can have a lot of arguments about canon given that a lot of christianity doesn't canonize the book of enoch) one of the watchers, a group of angels who donned human forms and fathered the nephilim
> 
> 2) [points to mutual pining tag] keep that in mind, folks
> 
> 3) one-two has a name now!!! she will be referred to as delphi from now on, along with her original designation name.
> 
> 4) yes i am definitely going to try to fit as many libraries as i can into this fic bc jason is a literature nerd and i must indulge my sweet tragic baby
> 
> thank y'all as always for reading. i love you, stay safe and be kind to yourselves.


	5. Part Four: The Magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: underage drinking, dissociative episodes, unreality, perception warping, sanity slippage, flashbacks to torture/abuse, violence, body horror, brief mention of sex trafficking, dehumanization (if you squint)

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you,” you read aloud.

Laying on your back on top of the truck cab, your feet dangled off the back of it as you read the Rumi collection that you’d picked up in a thrift store a few towns back. Jason sat in the truck bed, cleaning and oiling his guns and letting out a soft hum. Although your legs hung on either side of his head, he had continued to work with an unwavering focus as your bare heels tapped a rhythm against the rear window. Schnitzel was sleeping in the truck, deep sleep undisturbed by your conversation.

“You really like Rumi, huh?” he asked.

“I think that his words are beautiful,” you told him, flipping to the next page. You’d barely slept that night, tucked under the motel comforter with a book light, devouring the poems over and over again until the ones that spoke to you the most were embedded in your mind and heart. “Like… like a little salve on the soul, you know?”

“Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place,” he recited.

Sitting up, you slipped the receipt you’d been using as a bookmark to mark where you’d left off. When you craned over enough to look at Jason, you discovered that he’d already been looking up at you, crooked grin on his face.

“How much of his work do you have memorized?” you asked him.

“A lot,” Jason told you with a short chuckle, setting down his weapon and wiping at his hands with a stained cloth. “Have you picked up the e.e. cummings yet?”

“No.” You sighed, watched his deft hands reassemble the gun and slide it into the back of his waistband. “I should. But Rumi…” You shook your head. “I’ve just found myself getting lost in his writing.”

“Well, when you’re ready to move on,” he told you, resting his head against the back of the cab, “I think you’ll like Cummings, too. There’s one of his poems… it reminds me a little of you, Delphi.”

 _Delphi._ You were still trying to get used to the name. In the days since you’d left Providence, Jason had used it at every opportunity he had. Still, you found yourself having to adjust to it. When you’d stopped to pick up extra clothes for your (suddenly extended) journey, he’d tried to call you with the name multiple times before finally having to hunt you down in the store. He’d insisted that it was fine, but you were still deeply embarrassed by the incident.

“Oh?” You were intrigued, bending further forward, braid slipping over your shoulder as you gazed at him. “Which poem is it?”

“It wouldn’t be any fun if I told you, would it?” he asked, reaching up to give your braid a gentle tug. Playful, far from the painful grip of the children in the compound or the Keepers wrangling you when you acted up. “When you finish the collection, you can guess which one it is.”

You frowned. How were you supposed to guess that? Jason was without a doubt your friend now, but you found that he kept many things still locked away tight, his emotions both painfully obvious and deeply secretive at the same time. Picking up the Rumi collection, you reluctantly decided to set it aside for the time being so that you could play along.

“What if I get it wrong?” you asked him, sliding off the roof of the cab so you could sit next to him.

“Then you just keep guessing until you get it right,” Jason chuckled. “Or you finally pick up that Emily Dickinson collection you also got. I didn’t think that you were a fan of poetry.”

“There was an old collection of Dickinson’s poems in the compound that I read a lot,” you told him, tilting your head back to stare up at the sky. Wispy clouds floated by, the sun beginning to sink on the horizon. “I memorized ‘Hope is the thing with feathers’ years ago.”

“Ah,” Jason said, smile melting into something warm and fond, “that’s always been one of my favorites. It suits you.”

“How can a poem suit me?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s in the way you carry yourself, the way you live your life,” he explained. “Just like songs can suit a person, in their themes and melodies and lyrics and tone, I think poems do the same. A piece about the fleeting, fragile, kind nature of hope suits you.”

The flush came unbidden to your cheeks, praise still so foreign to you. No matter how many times he’d casually laid a ‘good job’ or a ‘well done’ at your feet like an offering, you found yourself uncertain with how to accept it. In the compound, there had been no reason to compliment you or your skills, even less so to offer kind words in exchange for your own gentle nature. If anything, that gentleness, your tendency to err to the side of kindness, had been reason for punishment. But you’d still held onto hope. Hope that you would be free, hope that death would sweep you away from the cycle of pain. Hope that you’d be able to experience life the way characters in the books you’d read and the movies you’d watched in the common room did.

The only problem was that once you’d had that freedom, you’d found yourself drowning in uncertainty and fear. Hope was a fragile thing in your heart, delicate feather and bone, carefully tended to. The thunder brewing in your veins threatened it, growing in intensity with each day, static prickling your skin even as you tried to pretend that everything was the same and something had not fundamentally shifted inside of you.

“Thank you,” you finally said, snapping out of your reverie.

“Well,” Jason said with a heavy exhale, pushing himself up to his feet. “We’d better get back on the road if we’re gonna reach New Orleans in time.”

“Right.”

Standing as well, you watched him slip the case back into its hidden compartment in the truck bed, let him hop down first. When he extended his hand to you to help you down, you did not hesitate to take it, his fingers curling around your own as you stepped down carefully, bare toes curling in the dead grass. His hand lingered for a moment too long before he let go, your fingers curling at the sudden loss of warmth.

When you looked down at your palm, you saw that he’d left a dark smudge on your skin. Slowly, your hand curled into a loose fist, fingers sheltering the mark and your heart giving a strange lurch before you slid into the passenger seat.

\---

The journey to New Orleans had not been planned.

Originally, Jason had planned to take you back to Gotham, both of you hoping that Azrael had already passed through. The vision of his flaming sword had haunted your dreams, your confidence that he’d never hurt you withering. Your readings had been a twisted, convoluted mess, conflicting images flashing through your inner eye. In a twist that you were convinced couldn’t be a coincidence, one of his old contacts had asked him for help on a mission in New Orleans.

It had taken a while to convince Jason to let you come with him, but he’d given in eventually. You weren’t entirely sure what exactly had made him cave in, but were thankful nonetheless. With everything you’d seen, and everything you hadn’t been able to see, you needed a bit more time away from Gotham. He’d insisted on covering your expenses in return for your time with him, and you hadn’t fought him on it.

Sometimes, bargains had to be made.

“Getting any particular feelings?” he asked you, sitting across the table from you.

“Not… really,” you admitted with a sigh.

Since he had no idea how long your stay in New Orleans would be, Jason had arranged to use the safe house of an old friend while you were there. It was a nice change from cramped motel rooms, the privacy of having a room to yourself once more welcome. The kitchen was small and cramped, the chair you were sitting in creaking when you leaned back. Upon entering, you’d immediately opened the windows to banish the musty smell of the house, the occasional mild breeze rustling the branches of the trees outside. It was peaceful, in its own way. Music drifted in from one of the bars near the safe house, the wind carrying soulful voices and melancholy melodies.

“Any idea why?” Jason leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the table.

You shook your head, frowning down at your hands. Even after you’d shuffled your deck for five minutes straight, there had been no familiar tingle, no itch under your skin. You were baffled, but more than that, you were upset. The only reason Jason had even agreed to bring you with him was because you had promised to be useful, and the only thing that made you useful were your powers. Without them, you were a burden.

“This has never happened before,” you murmured, thumb running over the branching scar on your right palm. “I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

“Well,” he hummed, “you were still getting your feelings and visions before we got close to New Orleans, right? Just nothing… specific to our situation, or the situation here.”

After a moment, you gave him a small nod as an answer.

“Could be that the next demon is here, in the city,” Jason mused, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Maybe they’re messing with your powers somehow. Dampening them.”

That… was certainly a possibility. Not one that you wanted to think about, but a possibility, nonetheless. If that was the case, you would need to figure a way around whatever the demon was doing to interrupt your powers. Although, if you were honest with yourself, the best way to do that would be to hurt yourself, and you doubted that Jason would go along with that plan.

“I’ll figure something out,” you said, sinking further in your chair.

If you were going to solve the issue, then you needed to do so quickly. There was no telling how close the demon was, or how quickly they would act against Jason. Rubbing at your left eye, you grimaced. The old wounds were aching again, the lone sign your body was giving you that something was wrong, that there was a path to unfold and lead Jason down.

“Well, we can worry about that later,” he said, glancing at his watch and moving to stand. “I’ve gotta head out to meet my contact about the job.”

“Let me come with you,” you said, rushing to stand as well, cards forgotten on the table in front of you. “Maybe… maybe I’ll get a feeling there.”

Jason frowned, your heart sinking. He was going to say no. You just knew it.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Delphi,” he said, trying to let you down gently.

But you were not going to back down.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I’ll get my gut feelings again if I’m around someone else. I just… Please. Let me go with you. I feel like I need to.”

“I thought you said you weren’t getting your usual feelings.” Jason quirked an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest.

“I’m… I’m not,” you conceded. “But I don’t want to be alone.”

You could see the exact moment that he caved, stern expression melting as he heaved a dramatic sigh. Even his shoulders slumped, walls crumbling down as he gave in. Schnitzel looked up from where he lay at the back door, ears pricked as Jason tossed you your sweater.

“Keep quiet,” he said, frowning when your eyes lit up. “If I ask you to do something, you do it immediately and without question. Understood?”

“Understood.” You nodded, gave Schnitzel a quick pat on the head as you followed Jason out the back door. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Jason’s face was dark when he glanced back at you. “You might regret coming along.”

You doubted that, but didn’t say so. Instead, you gave him another nod, falling silent as you followed him down the street.

How could you regret being helpful?

\---

Within seconds of entering the dive bar that Jason was meeting his contact in, you were regretting tagging along. The place was packed, the press of bodies around you making your skin crawl and your head ache. Above the loud chatter was even louder music, screaming guitars and heavy bass that only made it all worse. More intense, more overwhelming.

But you had insisted on coming, and you weren’t going to prove Jason’s doubts to be right. So, you bit back a startled yelp when someone bumped into you, pressed closer to Jason as he moved through the crowd. Your fingers twisted into the back of his shirt, the fear of losing him in the chaos making you break out in a cold sweat.

“You good?” he asked, nearly yelling to be heard over the chaotic din of the bar, turning back to look at you.

“Fine!” you yelled back, flinching at the volume of your voice. “Just… really loud.”

“Hey, if you need to leave—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “Do you see your friend?”

“Not a friend,” he corrected with a small shake of his head. “But… yeah. Come on.”

Reaching back, Jason removed your hand from the back of his shirt, fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist as he shoved his way further into the crowd. Your skin felt hot under his touch, but the gentle grip was grounding. Something to focus on other than the smell of sweat and cheap alcohol, muffled snippets of loud conversations.

It didn’t take long to get to your destination, and you wondered at the sinking disappointment you felt when Jason let go of you. Peeking around him, you rubbed at the tingling skin of your wrist.

A woman with white hair sat in a booth, face grim as she looked up at Jason. She wore an eyepatch and a general sense of not being the kind of person one wanted to mess with unless they wanted to swallow their own teeth. Lifting her sweating bottle of beer, she motioned to you, eye narrowing.

“Didn’t think you had a sidekick, Todd,” she sneered, voice strangely light and melodic despite the disdain in her tone. “Taking after Daddy?”

“Yeah, great to see you again too, Wilson,” Jason snarled. “Great way to start off a conversation where you ask me to help you out.”

You glanced between the two of them, shrinking at the angry tension between the two.

“Right, fine. Great to see you, Todd. I am endlessly pleased by your selfless desire to help out little old me, totally not because there’s money to be made.” She rolled her eyes, gesturing to the peeling leather seats across from her in the booth. “Now sit the fuck down so we can talk.”

Muttering under his breath, Jason motioned for you to go in first. Sliding into the booth, you pressed yourself against the wall as he sat next to you. The woman continued to stare at you, dark eye piercing, like she could see straight through you, to the very core of who you were.

“Who are you?” she asked, leaning forward.

“Um,” you said, voice cracking as you shrank back, tried to sink further into the sagging cushions.

“Her name’s Delphi,” Jason answered for you. “Not a sidekick. She’s helping me with another case I’ve been working on.”

“Huh.” The woman sat back, taking a swig from her beer before she spoke again. “Rose Wilson. You good at keeping quiet, Delphi?”

You gave a small nod, remembering Jason’s rule of keeping quiet. Not that it was particularly difficult, especially with anxiety welding your jaw shut.

“Good.” Rose Wilson waved down a server, ordering a round for all three of you before she turned back to Jason. “I would take care of my little problem myself, but I’ve got my hands full with Titans business. Nothing too complicated, but I figured it’s right up your alley. And, like I said on the phone, you’ll get paid for your work.”

“So, I’m just cleaning up your messes for you while you waltz off to take care of more important things.” Jason snorted. “Just like old times.”

“You want the job or not?” she asked, venom dripping in her tone.

Jason sighed, shaking his head.

“Fine,” he said. “We could use the cash, keep us off the radar for a while longer. What’s the job?”

“One of my informants dropped off the map,” Rose said, voice low. You could barely even hear her, and she fell quiet when the server dropped off three beers. Only when the girl had left did she speak again, shoving one of the bottles in front of you and another at Jason. “Not the type to get cold feet or go AWOL. She was feeding me info for a sex trafficking ring here. Just need you to track her down, confirm if she’s dead or not. And if you wanna bring a bit of hurt, well…” She shrugged. “I certainly won’t tattle.”

Tuning out the rest of the conversation, you stared at the beer in front of you. You’d never had alcohol before, since you were still underage, and you weren’t entirely certain whether it would be rude to not drink it. Rose gave the impression of being a person who permanently held grudges, and you didn’t want to risk damaging whatever working relationship Jason had with her. Grudgingly, you picked up the bottle, the cool glass surface a nice contrast to the stifling heat of the building.

“Big Easy IPA,” you mumbled to yourself, giving it a sniff and humming at the surprisingly pleasant citrus smell of it.

Jason had fallen quiet, frowning as he took a swig of his own beer.

“You good?” he asked.

“Um, yeah.” You cleared your throat before taking a sip of the beer.

The bitter flavor spread thick across your tongue and you barely caught yourself before you made a face of disgust. You took another drink, sinking down in the booth as Jason and Rose returned to their conversation. Both of them looked like they were in their element, at ease despite the chaos surrounding them. You were all too aware of how you stuck out like a sore thumb, too young, too uncomfortable, too anxious. All but chugging the beer, you set the empty bottle down and flinched when Rose let out an amused snort.

“Already finished, huh? Want another?” she asked.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Jason said, shaking his head. “Look, let’s just focus on—”

“Hey, another beer for my friend over here!” Rose yelled, cutting him off as she got the server’s attention. “What, Todd, afraid to let your _friend_ have a good time?”

Jason grimaced, setting down his own beer. When you glanced at it, you realized with a sinking feeling that he actually hadn’t drunk any of it, each sip feigned. Of course he wasn’t drinking. He was working, after all. But whatever argument he had prepared faded when another bottle was set down in front of you.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, although it was clear that it was not fine. You’d never drunk before, didn’t enjoy the taste of the beer, but also didn’t want to throw Rose’s hospitality in her face. “Thanks.”

“Oh, you are very welcome,” she purred, watching you chug at the second bottle. “I like this one, Todd. Quiet, knows how to have a good time, unlike you.”

“Maybe slow down a little, Delphi,” he mumbled, leaning closer so that you could hear him. “Be careful.”

Face flushed with embarrassment, you gave a small nod and pushed the bottle away from you. Already you could feel a muted effect, your movements and thoughts sluggish as you sighed and lowered your gaze to the table. Far from drunk, not even close to tipsy, but enough to make you feel off balance.

“Just drop off whatever intel you have to the place I’m staying at,” Jason told Rose, pushing his own beer away from himself and over to her. “I’ll take a look at it, see what I can find. What chances would you give your girl of still being alive?”

“Honestly?” She sighed, shook her head. “Chances are pretty low. But I still want to follow up, just in case.”

“Understood.” Jason slid out of the booth, motioning for you to follow. “We should get back, get some sleep. You got an ideal timeframe, Wilson?”

“ASAP,” she said, her eye watching you as you stood next to him. “I trust you’ll get it taken care of quickly, since you have… _other things_ you’re interested in.”

Jason stiffened, expression going dark while you watched in confusion. Rose simply looked smug, resting her chin on her hand.

“Drop off the intel when you can,” Jason finally ground out, turning on his heel. “Come on, Delphi.”

“It was _very_ nice to meet you, Delphi!” Rose called out as Jason began to drag you away, laughter ringing in her voice.

You would have called back to her, but Jason was storming through the crowd, shouldering people out of the way and ignoring their protests. Ducking around cursing men who glared at Jason’s rapidly retreating back, you struggled to catch up with him. Once you were both outside, you managed to grab hold of his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. When he looked back at you, there was a flush to his cheeks, brow furrowed in anger.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, breathless, fingers lingering on his skin.

“What? Nothing,” he snapped, expression closing off, eyes going cold.

“No,” you pressed. “You’re upset. Why?”

“Delphi.” Jason sighed, pulled his wrist from your light grip. Something in your chest stung, a pain you hadn’t felt before. “I’m fine. Let’s just get back, okay?”

Clearly he was lying to you. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he looked everywhere but at you, hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his side. Before you could say anything else, argue any further, he had turned away, started walking. You lingered for a moment longer, pressed a hand over your stinging heart.

The feeling, you realized, was rejection.

\---

Sleep did not come to you that night, leaving you to stare up at the ceiling and wonder what you had done wrong. Jason had been silent the entire walk back to the safe house, barely spoke as he directed you to get some rest before holing up in his own room. If you were a braver person, a bolder person, you would have barged in and demanded for him to explain his actions.

But you were not brave. You were not bold. You were small, and scared, and uncertain. And god, you hated yourself for it.

You sat up and looked over at Schnitzel, who had curled up at the food of the bed. The dog watched you with his warm, friendly brown eyes, and the animal sympathy there made your stomach clench. Schnitzel didn’t know better. He simply loved you, unconditionally. Despite all your flaws. Despite how useless you were.

“Hey boy,” you whispered, reaching out to stroke a hand over his soft, thick fur. “Wanna go for a walk?”

Thunder rumbled outside, rain softly tapping at the window, but you didn’t mind. A little bit of rain couldn’t hurt, and you could dry Schnitzel off when you got back. But you felt restless, dark thoughts digging their claws deeper and deeper into your mind. You needed a distraction. Schnitzel let you put on his harness and leash, remained quiet by your side as you slipped on your boots. You paused for a moment outside Jason’s door, ears straining. When you heard a quiet snore, you let out a small sigh of relief, quietly making your way out the front door and slowly shutting it behind you with a muted click.

The rain was just cool enough to feel refreshing against your skin, cooling against the uncomfortable itch that had been growing. Not the prophecy itch, not the bad omen itch. The itch that made you feel like your flesh and bones were too small, too wrong for what you were. The feeling that you were inherently imperfect in a way that could not be fixed. As Schnitzel trotted along in front of you, you fought the urge to dig your nails into your skin, carve out the thing inside of you that had been growing for weeks now.

The storm, the darkness. An insidious little thing that you had tried to ignore, but which only grew and grew with each passing day. You’d thought, at first, that it was simply the change you’d felt after killing Orias in your dreams. Some divine thing that was slowly blooming, unfurling like a delicate flower.

But it wasn’t. It was worse. It was too big, too thunderous. Exhausted as you were, its presence felt stifling.

Thunder rolled across the sky above you, lightning flashing in the distance. The rain fell harder, but you did not want to go back. You had no idea what time it was, but knew it was stuck somewhere between far too late and far too early. Your clothing stuck to your skin, hair plastered to your face as the drizzle turned into a downpour. Schnitzel whined, his own fur soaked.

“Sorry, boy,” you whispered, the storm drowning you out. “Let’s find some shelter.”

It didn’t take long, a gazebo close enough that you were able to run to it and take shelter from the growing storm quickly. Schnitzel continued to whine, ears pressed back until you crouched down and held him close. The dog shivered, although it didn’t seem to be from the cold. His body pressed closer to yours, whines slowly growing in volume as something in the air shifted.

The hair on the back of your neck stood, the dark itch under your skin turning into a terrible static. Tightening your grip on Schnitzel, you turned to look back at the road, back pressed against one of the benches in the gazebo.

There was a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning, illuminating dark figures in the rain. Your blood ran cold as darkness fell once more, streetlights flickering out one by one. Schnitzel pressed his muzzle against your collarbone, his panting breaths fanning warm over the chilled skin. You shuddered and pulled him closer, right hand clenched at your side.

Another flash of lightning. The burning smell of ozone overpowered the smell of the rain. Your blood felt electrified as you noticed that only one figure remained. But they had moved closer, misshapen and eyes glowing even after darkness fell once more. A looming sense of unreality rose in you, the darkness around you impossible, the raging storm not touching the gazebo you’d sheltered in. Even Schnitzel’s whining began to fade, your ears filled with buzzing static.

From the darkness outside, you watched slithering limbs make their way across the floor, slick as they raced towards you. A scream built in your throat, but your jaw was locked with fear. You wanted to move, needed to move, but found yourself rooted to the spot. One of the tendrils wrapped around your ankle, cold and wet, coiling quickly up until it had reached your knee. Panic fueled you at that point, the scream finally exploding from your lungs as you grabbed the tendril with your right hand.

Several things happened all at once. A burning sensation ran along your newest, strangest scar, like fire bursting from the skin, splitting open the flesh and making you cry out once more. Lightning flashed just outside of the gazebo, blinding you, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut. And a terrible, inhuman scream echoed in the small space, hurting your eyes and making Schnitzel yelp in fear.

And then, just like that, reality slammed back in. You could hear the dog’s whimpers, his tongue lapping at your cheek. When you opened your eyes, the darkness had disappeared, the streetlights flickering back on one by one. The tendrils had vanished, as if they had never even been there. But you knew they had been, could still feel the cold, slimy touch against your skin. Your right hand and arm ached, raw and pulsing, fingers numb. Trembling, you slowly turned your hand palm up, heart pounding concussively in your chest.

The scar was raw, branching out further up to your fingers and overtaking more of your arm. As if it had just been struck by lightning once more, fresh Lichtenberg figures etched into your flesh.

The storm slowly faded from torrential to a light drizzle, the moon peeking through the clouds and providing more light. When you stood up and took in your surroundings, Schnitzel shaking water from his fur and pressing against you, you realized that just behind the gazebo was a cemetery. Another chill went down your spine, shadows shifting in the corner of your eye.

You turned and ran, Schnitzel keeping up with you, and did not stop until you’d closed the door of the safe house behind you.

Gasping for breath, you braced your back against the door, sliding down it until you hugged your knees to your chest. Schnitzel, determined to cement his position as a good boy, left your side to retrieve a towel from the bathroom. Hands still shaking, you murmured praise to him as you dried off his fur, let him rest his head on your shoulder as you wiped off his feet. There was the click of a door opening and you flinched as Jason hurried out of his room and down the hall, eyes wide and glowing in the dark when he spotted you. Lowering his gun, he frowned at you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You’d woken him up. Averting your gaze to the floor, you finished toweling off Schnitzel, slipping off his harness before you answered.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Your voice was small, so small, shaking and fragile. “I wanted to go for a walk. The storm got worse, and I took shelter too close to a graveyard. I’m fine, but…”

You trailed off, uncertain what exactly it was that you were. Because you could insist that you were fine until you were blue in the face, but you weren’t sure if you truly _were_ fine. You were shaken. You were scared. You were terrified not of the things that had come from the dark, but of what you had done. The buzz of electricity under your skin, the pulsing burn of the scar.

Jason crouched in front of you. The coldness in his gaze was gone, replaced with warmth. Concern. It only made you feel colder, remembering the sting of his rejection. Your chest ached when he reached out to brush wet hair from your face.

“Nothing happened, right?” he asked. “You aren’t hurt?

“No,” you said, voice flat. “Just… shaken. That’s all.”

There was a beat of silence, awkward and strained. Cold rain water dripped from the ends of your loose hair, fingers twitching at the lazy pulses of pain that radiated through the strange scar. Jason noticed, of course he did, sharp eyes locking onto the raw skin. He was alarmed, hand shooting out to your arm, fingers wrapping around your elbow to pull you closer. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the scar, brow furrowing.

“Pretty sure this counts as getting hurt,” he pointed out, voice a low growl.

A strange shiver went through you when his eyes flicked up to meet your own, not from the chill settling into your bones, but from the heat in his gaze.

“I don’t know what happened.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. You _didn’t_ know what had happened. You were still reeling from the strange encounter, the way the storm inside of you had surged in that split second, the crack of thunder that had echoed inside of you. As if you were the storm, the source of the lightning. It made no sense, and you were too tired to puzzle over it. Your head ached, your bones hurt, and the skin where the tendril had touched you felt tender.

“This is an ugly city,” Jason said, still holding onto your arm, thumb brushing against the edge of your new scars. “Especially late at night. Things just aren’t… right here. Try not to leave the house once the sun goes down, not without me. Schnitzel is a good dog, but… I don’t think he can do much when it comes to the things that live in the shadows.”

It struck you, once more, that Jason seemed to understand much more about the things lurking just out of sight than he let on. Like he saw more than he admitted to, kept terrible knowledge tucked away in his heart. The fingers of your right hand twitched again, a fresh spasm of dull pain shooting from where his hand held your arm down to your fingertips. Feeling like a scolded child, you hung your head, too tired to argue.

“Fine,” you whispered.

Jason sighed, his touch slipping away. The pulses faded away, your fingers curling into a loose fist. Strange. Strange that the splitting of the flesh, the ache had not triggered any visions. Maybe whatever you had done had nullified your usual visions. Or maybe the demon was still blocking them.

“Go take a warm shower, put some dry clothes on.” He stood, helped you to your feet as Schnitzel watched, ever vigilant. “And try to get at least a little sleep. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

You did not have the energy to argue with him. You swayed on your feet, exhaustion crashing over you as you trudged towards the bathroom. In a trance, you closed the door, stripped off your clothes, and stood under the hot stream of water. It banished the chill, but did nothing to soothe your aching muscles and throbbing head. Only once your skin had flushed red did you turn off the water, wrapping yourself in a towel and shivering.

When you glanced at yourself in the mirror, you noticed a thin trickle of blood from your nose. You swiped at it, pressed wadded up tissue to your nostrils in case the slow flow became a heavy gush. But the trickle died soon enough, the headache fading along with it. Staring at the crimson stained tissue for a moment, you dismissed your concerns. Too many things had happened to be concerned about. You could worry about them in the morning.

Jason was gone when you emerged, faint sounds coming from his room. Clutching the towel tightly, you moved down the hall towards your own room as quickly as you could. The door clicked shut behind you, silence a heavy, but not unpleasant, weight around you. Letting the towel drop, you did not bother to slip on pajamas or dry off your hair. You crawled into bed, tucked the blankets in close around you. Within moments, you were out, sleep finally claiming you just as the sun began to peek over the horizon.

\---

_It wasn’t your fault, but that didn’t matter. Tools that couldn’t function had to be punished. Reminded of what their purpose was, and what would happen if they ceased to be useful._

_You were freshly sixteen, numb to the horrors of the compound and already beginning to tire of the unending pain of your existence. The visions you’d had were not what the Matron had wanted. They’d cut you numerous times, parallel lines on your thigh, one after the other, but each cut only resulted in the same vision of failure instead of victory. Two of your fingers had been broken, as well, just to make sure._

_The result was always the same. A failed mission, the loss of more than one asset._

_It wasn’t your fault, of course. You had no power over the visions, you were simply a vessel. If that was what the future held, then that was what the future held. No amount of pain could change that. But the Matron was still furious and blamed you for it. The mission parameters would have to be changed, costing the Order vast amounts of money._

_Destiny was the one truly at fault, but you were the only one that the Matron could take her anger out on._

_You had been dragged out of your room at the break of dawn, stripped bare to the waist and forced to lay down on one of the cold metal procedure tables. No explanation was given. None was needed. You knew what was going to happen. You knew why it was going to happen. And you were powerless to stop it, cheek pressed against the unyielding surface as the Matron’s icy hand rested on the small of your back._

_“Let this be a lesson,” she said, voice hard. Biting. Sharp as the razor she wielded. “It will be the only one. Do not disappoint us again, 127.”_

_The first cut was made between your shoulder blades, blade slicing deep and pain welling along with the blood. The visions surfaced but were non-sensical, too many bleeding together as cut after cut was made. Jumbled visions of death and decay and monstrous things flooded your mind, overwhelmed your fragile grip on reality. Soon you were screaming about things lurking in the shadows, unblinking eyes and ceaseless watchers, angels with melting faces and bleeding walls._

_The punishment could have gone on for minutes or hours or days. Your concept of time was held in a loose grip, consciousness fleeting as the pain finally ended and your blood ran slick and dark to the pristine tiled floors. Hollowed out and numb, you stared blankly up at the Matron when she turned you over. Your face was slick with tears, vision swimming as you tried to focus on her cold blue eyes._

_“What have we learned?” she asked, fingers pressing hard against one of the wounds._

_You whimpered, babbled, tried to grasp for coherent words but found them slipping easily away from you. She pressed harder and you cried out, nails scrabbling at blood-slick metal. Finally, you found the words, screamed them._

_“See only what is useful!” you cried out, voice hoarse from your ceaseless screaming. “Do not harm the Order and aid it to the best of my ability!”_

_“Good girl,” the Matron said, voice now warm and honey sweet. “You are special, even amongst so many other gifted children. I would hate to see you lose your usefulness.”_

_The Matron slipped away, let the Keepers treat your wounds and re-dress you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn you saw her lick your blood from her hand, eyes shining dark and cold._

_But you were in pain, delirious, mind slowly piecing itself together after being shattered. Your eyes could not be trusted, and the Order surely would not suffer monsters being among their ranks._

_You were allowed seven days to recover, isolated in your room, before your blood spilled once more._

_\---_

Slowly, you awakened, limbs tangled in sheets and blankets. The scars on your back ached, the last vestige of the nightmare you’d had. The burn in your arm and hand had faded, nothing more than a distant memory. You pushed yourself up, felt your joints creak and protest as you slid out of bed. Chill air kissed your bare skin, making you shiver as you glanced at the old alarm clock on the bedside table. Only a handful of hours had passed, your sleep more like an extended nap, sun still hanging low enough in the sky for it to be morning. The rain had stopped, but the light outside the window was still dim enough that you knew dark, heavy clouds still crowded the sky. You pulled on clean clothes, a long, loose skirt and a knit sweater that felt soft and soothing against your crawling skin. It took a while to brush the tangles and knots from your hair, fingers clumsy as you braided it. You paused partway through, glanced at your bag.

Your movements not quite your own, pulled by some strange, foreign urge, you dug through clothes and books and small boxes of cheap tea until your fingers closed around the feathers you’d taken from Samael’s body. You pulled out two, hunted down red string that had been tucked away in a corner of the closet. Carefully, you wrapped a bit of it around one of the feathers, then used the small knife Jason had given you to cut a small length of the string and wove it and the soft, dark feather into your braid.

Clarity rushed back to you all at once, static disappearing as you brushed the tip of your index finger over the edge of the feather. It was like a fog had been lifted from your mind, the dreamlike state you’d been in since arriving in the city vanishing. The other feather rested on the floor in front of you, beckoning you. You cut another length of red string, wrapped it around the base of the feather before you left the room and made your way into the kitchen.

Jason looked up from his position in front of the stove, bacon frying in a pan and the smell of fresh baked biscuits wafting over you. He smiled, although the gesture didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he greeted, “you look like you’re feeling—”

“Wear this,” you interrupted, shoving the makeshift pendant at him.

Although he was visibly confused, Jason took the pendant, hesitating for a moment before he looked back to you.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Frustrated, you took the pendant from his hands and reached up to tie it around his neck yourself. You had to go up on your toes, body pressed close to his as you carefully tied the ends into tight knots. When you pulled back, his face was flushed, hands hovering slightly in the air, as if he’d been just moments away from touching you. But you ignored it, tucked the feather under his shirt with a small, confident nod.

“That will keep you safe,” you said. “A ward from any illusions.”

“Are you… feeling things again?” he asked you slowly.

You did not bother answering him with words, instead retrieving your tarot deck. That familiar tingling had returned to your fingers, and you nearly wept in relief. Later, you would offer some kind of prayer of thanks to Samael, wherever his soul was in the ether, waiting to be reborn. You were certain that this was not the last gift he and Lilith would give to you beyond the grave. Movements sure and certain, you cut and shuffled the deck, flipping over one singular card.

The Magician.

“Of course,” you whispered.

A card that represented the divine motive of man, but also disaster and the snares of enemies. Your thumb brushed over the fading image of the garden of flowers at the Magician’s feet. This demon was one of the mind, of mental magics. Of divination. You looked up at Jason, chest swelling as your gift finally returned and made you useful once again. Not a burden, but a powerful asset.

Looking around for a pen and paper, you ignored Jason’s curious gaze, settled for a pen that had been left on the kitchen table and a scrap of receipt paper. Your hand twitched distant from your body, propelled by something else. The world faded away as you drew, whorls of ink slowly but surely coming together to form a picture.

A thrush, clutching a sword in its talons, eyes dark, staring holes that held endless depths despite being no more than ink. You recognized it, pen trembling in your left hand, grip on it white-knuckled.

“Caim,” you breathed.

“Who?”

Jason had come to stand behind you, frowning as he reached down to pick up the drawing.

“Caim,” you repeated. “A prince of Hell, as I recall. He gives true answers concerning things to come.”

Realization lit his eyes as he studied the messy lines of ink, fingers tightening around the paper, crumpling it slightly.

“Visions and prophecy used against your own,” he said. He turned his gaze back to you. “That’s why you couldn’t see or sense anything before.”

“Exactly.” You nodded, clutching the edge of the table. “If he’s forcing his own visions, dreaming things up, things that are constantly contradicting, then of course it would mess with my own gifts. It explains why everything just felt so… not real. Not right.”

“I’ve got to look into Wilson’s informant, but I’ll try to work fast,” Jason said, setting the crumpled drawing back down. “See what else you can find out. Once I get back, we can work on—”

“Wait.” You stood up, hand flashing out to wrap around his own. You could see smudges of ink on his fingertips, pressed your palm against them, and— “The French Quarter. An attic. There’s a small flower garden, wilting roses. Go there.”

You pulled back, wiped at the smudged ink on your palm with your thumb. The skin there was warm, near feverish, hottest near the center of your Lichtenberg scars. Jason was silent for a long moment, staring down at his own hand before he looked back to you.

“How?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Just… a feeling. Be careful, Jason. Something terrible stalks the streets, even during the light of day.”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, voice soft.

“Jason?”

“Yeah?”

“I think the bacon is burning.”

He cursed, running back to the stove and taking the burned bacon off the heat. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, he tossed it in the trash and heaved a sigh. You got up and moved to open the fridge, looking through it before you located a package of lunch meat that hadn’t yet spoiled. When the food had been placed there for you, you weren’t sure, but you also didn’t feel like asking. There were some things you were better off not knowing about Jason and his life outside of you and your journey together. He pulled the biscuits from the oven, let you slice a few of them open and carefully place folded bits of the ham in them. After tearing cheese slices you’d also found into appropriate sizes to lay over the ham, you closed the biscuits up and handed one to him.

“It’s not quite the same,” you said, “but should be good enough.”

“Thanks.” Jason sighed, taking a bite out of it and looking thoughtful before he spoke again. “Is it okay if I take Schnitzel with me?”

“Of course.” You picked up your own little biscuit sandwich, leaving the rest for him to take with him. “I should be okay by myself.”

“If anything happens—”

“Give you a call,” you said, cutting him off with a hesitant smile. “I know the drill, Jason.”

Sheepish, he picked up the remaining biscuit sandwiches and cleared his throat.

“Right. I’m off then. I’ll keep in touch, let you know when I’m headed back.”

“Okay.”

You followed him out of the kitchen, watched quietly as he strapped on his holster, checked the magazines in his pistols and shrugged on his jacket. Schnitzel let him put on his harness, sat patiently by the door as Jason slipped on his boots and hesitated. He looked back at you, his gaze conflicted. You clasped your hands in front of you and waited patiently. After a long moment, he sighed and shook his head.

“Make sure not to push yourself too hard, okay?” he said, opening the door and letting Schnitzel head outside first.

“I’ll try,” you told him.

Although he clearly wasn’t satisfied, he gave you a small nod before leaving, door closing with a click behind him. You absorbed the following silence for a moment, let it sink into your skin, your bones. Flexing your tingling fingers, you turned away from the door and back towards your cards. The static grew until it was a current, destiny’s hand heavy as you sat down.

Eyes clear and heart racing, you shuffled the deck once more and got to work.

\---

It wasn’t hard for Jason to find the building. At first, he’d thought that Delphi’s words were just vague enough that it would take him hours simply to find the path she’d laid out before him.

Thankfully, she proved him wrong once more.

Schnitzel trotted obediently at his side as he prowled the French Quarter, hood up and mask hanging loosely around his neck. The Red Hood get up would have drawn too much attention, been too gaudy. Red Hood was for Gotham, and Gotham only. Out here, away from his home turf, he was just Jason Todd. A ghost, a dead man walking the streets. Not long into his walk, he spotted it. A rundown old occult shop, wilting roses in window boxes and a wrought iron gate thick with vines. Shiver running down his spine, he glanced up to the top floor. The attic window had been boarded up.

“Good job, Delphi,” he muttered to himself, unable to smother a grin.

It had been good to see clarity in her eyes again, after the daze she’d been in the night before. The spread of her scar still concerned him but… No. He had other things to worry about. Shaking his head, he growled at himself before approaching the building. From a cursory glance, it seemed closed, windows boarded up and an emptiness radiating from it that spoke of at least several months of abandonment.

But when he glanced down at the door handle, it was still gleaming, worn only by use. Schnitzel let out a low growl, falling silent when Jason clicked his tongue. Breaching through the front was too obvious, even if the lock did look like he could pick it in a matter of seconds. It was still early afternoon, the streets busy enough with tourist families that there were too many witnesses, too many eyes on him. Moving carefully, he edged around the side of the building, squeezing between the small gap between the shop and the building next to it. Schnitzel followed, keeping close to him until they both came out the other end.

The back alley reeked, the smell of urine and decay overwhelming. Slipping his mask up to cover his mouth and nose, Jason gave Schnitzel a sympathetic pat on the head as the dog pawed at his snout with a muted whine. There was no telling how many rotting bags of food were in the dumpster, how many bodies had been tucked away in the shadows.

God, he couldn’t wait to get back to Gotham. At least he was used to the filth there.

Pulling his lockpick kit from the breast pocket of his jacket, Jason knelt down and got to work. The back door clicked open easily, the deft work taking a matter of seconds. Chest puffing with pride, he turned to Schnitzel and held up a hand.

“Stay,” he whispered. Then he gave a small hand signal that he’d trained the dog to understand. “Alert.”

With a soft whuff of assent, Schnitzel positioned himself next to the door, body language alert. Giving the dog a brief scratch behind the ears, Jason slipped inside. The door swung shut with a muted click behind him, submerging him in darkness. But his eyes, stranger with each passing day, quickly adjusted until he could see as clear as day. Drawing one of his Sig Sauers, he slowly moved further into the building.

For a place that was supposed to be abandoned, it seemed oddly clean. There was no dust on the displays, dried herbs and crystals still arranged neatly with sun faded labels. The floorboards creaked softly with each quiet step he took, his SP 2022 held close to his body. The air felt… strange. Thick. _Wrong._

Jason flicked off the safety and ventured on, ascending the narrow stairs to the second floor slowly. He couldn’t sense anyone in the building. There was no sound of breathing, no creaking steps other than his own. No conversation, not even muted and faded by distance or false walls. But there was a presence, cold and off-putting. It only got stronger, weighed heavier on him as he moved further and further up, picked his way through shelves of rotting books and located the attic entrance.

_Something was watching him._

A shadow shifted out of the corner of his eye and he whipped around, finger resting lightly over the trigger. But there was nothing there. Just a display of tarot decks, price stickers peeling away from the plastic wrap enveloping them. Lowering his gun, Jason approached the small display, brushing a gloved finger over one of the decks. The deck Delphi was using was a faded, beaten up classic Rider-Waite deck, the faces of the cards slowly wearing away under her curious fingers. Maybe…

No. He shook his head again. No distractions.

Taking a step away, he dragged a chair over to stand on, reaching up and carefully pulling down the stairs to the attic. They slid down with a rusty groan, the bottom of them impacting loudly with the floor. He flinched, raised his gun again, and waited. Held his breath.

But nothing moved. The shop was just as silent as it had been before.

Nerves still on edge, Jason slid the pistol back into its holster before scaling the rickety stairs. As he climbed, so did his sense of dread. Something about the place was wrong, terribly so, but he just… couldn’t put his finger on it. Frustration and anger rose as well, cold and cutting as he finally clambered into the attic. Retrieving one of the knives that Delphi had anointed with her blood from his boot, Jason let his eyes adjust again, grip on the leather hilt white-knuckled.

The space was mostly empty, save for a few sagging cardboard boxes and a small, unmoving body. The iron tang of blood hung heavy, his heart sinking as he carefully approached the body. There was no doubt that the girl was dead, splayed out facedown in a puddle of dried, congealing blood. She’d likely been there for a few days, flesh already beginning to marble and rot. Thankful for the small barrier that the mask provided, he reached out and slowly turned the body over.

Delphi’s face stared up at him, frozen in a look of terror. Rooted in place, he stared down at her.

That couldn’t be right. He’d just seen her that morning. She was alive, breathing, safe—

A spider crawled out from between her lips, a massive, hairy thing that had him stumbling backwards. Dead eyes tracked his movement, a rattling gasp coming from the dead body. Her guts had spilled out from the gaping wound in her stomach, twisting and writhing on the floor.

No. It couldn’t be real. But the horrific sight in front of him remained, a soft moan escaping Delphi’s grey lips. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jason took a deep breath.

_It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real._

The feather that Delphi had tied around his neck earlier that morning burned against his chest, hot enough to make him hiss in pain. Reaching into his shirt, he pulled it out, eyes snapping open to glare down at the thing. But the heat quickly faded into a pleasant warmth. When he looked back at the body, it was not Delphi staring back at him. He didn’t recognize the girl, no spiders crawling from her lips, her body blessedly still and quiet.

Clutching the feather, he let out a shaking exhale. Nothing but a cruel illusion. Steeling himself, Jason moved to crouch next to the dead girl once more, examining her. She’d died from the massive gaping wound in her belly, no doubt. Slow and painful, a terrible way to go. She didn’t seem to be much older than 18, the dark lipstick she’d worn smeared across her deathly pale skin. Her hair was a faded blond, eyes a glassy color that might have once been blue. Reaching out, he closed her eyes, the closest thing he could get to giving her peace.

While it wasn’t the closure that he’d hoped to find in the case Rose had given him, it tied his part in the sordid affair into a neat little bow. She’d asked him to find her informant, and he’d done so. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he frowned when the screen glitched, flickered but refused to come to life.

“Fuck,” he grunted, slapping the back of it against his palm a few times to no avail. “Shit.”

Whatever had made him hallucinate was clearly also messing with his phone, a low, angry growl rumbling in his chest. Fucking demons and their magic bullshit. He resolved to _really_ take out some of his frustrations on this one.

Climbing back down to the second floor, he checked his phone again. Working, this time. With a deeply frustrated sigh, he brought up Rose’s burner number, kept alert as it rang, just in case the thing watching him tried anything.

“What?” Rose snapped as an answer.

“Found your informant.” Jason rolled his eyes, flipping the knife in the air and deftly catching it. “Young, blond, blue eyes, beauty mark under her right eye?”

“That’s her.” Rose’s voice was clipped, anger clear in each consonant. “Is she…?”

“Dead,” he confirmed. “Someone slit her belly open. She’s been dead for a few days.”

“Fuck,” she hissed. “You want any info on the group?”

“Normally,” he ground out, “I’d say yes. But I have other things I have to take care of.”

“Ah, you mean the girl?” she chuckled, no humor in the noise. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

“I’m not,” Jason snapped. “There are things bigger than this that I have to take care of _immediately_ , Wilson. I’m not here to clean up every op that you fuck up. This is your turf, not mine. I did what you asked and found her. You can take care of the rest yourself.”

“Oh, did I hit a nerve?”

“Fuck off.” He bristled, gripping his phone tight. “I want the assholes who killed a kid dead, too. But I have priorities. And right now, that’s keeping myself and my asset alive.”

“Fine.” The disappointment in her voice stung more than the anger. “I’ll drop the cash off under the porch chair later, since you did the bare minimum.”

“Look,” he sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “You’re more than capable, Wilson. I know you are. You know you are. Things get out of hand… I’ll do what I can to help. But right now, I’ve got literal Hell at my heels and that’s gotta get taken care of first.”

The other end was so quiet that he almost checked to see if she’d hung up on him before she heaved a heavy sigh.

“I know.” Her voice was low, exhausted. “I’m just… she was a good kid, Todd.”

“You knew her better than I did,” he told her, staring at the tarot decks. “Avenge her properly.”

“Yeah, probably better if it’s all personal.” Another pause. Then, “Thanks, Todd.”

“You’re welcome.” He glanced up at the attic, skin crawling. “I’ll send you the address, leave the back door open.”

“Much appreciated. Try not to die.”

“Thanks.”

Jason rolled his eyes and ended the call, shoving his phone back in his pocket. Still aware of the stifling presence, he sheathed the knife and picked up one of the tarot decks, slipping it into his pocket. With a wicked grin, he made his way back out of the shop, that eerie silence following him all the way until he crossed the threshold. Schnitzel perked up when he closed the door behind him, wagging his tail and licking at his fingers. The tension bled away with the disappearance of the presence, the muted sounds of the crowded street a strange comfort.

“Good boy,” he said, pulling out a treat and giving it to Schnitzel. “Let’s go check in on Delphi, yeah?”

Letting out a happy yip, Schnitzel trotted along next to him as he blended back in with the tourists, pulling his mask back down. His free hand slipped into his pocket, chest swelling with anticipation as he let his fingers close around the deck.

He just hoped the damn thing wasn’t cursed.

\---

By the time Jason returned, you weren’t certain how much time had passed. You’d entered a trance, lost control of your body as you scribbled on any piece of paper you’d been able to find in the house. Then you’d turned to drawing on your own arms and legs, spiraling patterns on your skin. You only snapped out of it when you felt Schnitzel’s nose press against the back of your head, pausing in the middle of inking in an orchid on the back of your right hand.

“Oh,” you breathed, blinking as you took in the mess spread around you.

“Well,” Jason said, shrugging off his jacket and taking in the mess of illustrations scattered in a haphazard circle around you. “Looks like you were busy.”

“I…” You trailed off, staring down at the dark flowers blooming on your limbs, the static in your skin finally fading away to nothing. “Huh.”

“I didn’t know you drew,” he said, shuffling a stack of papers covered in sketchy masses of wings to the side so that he could sit next to you.

“I don’t,” you admitted with a small frown. “I started with the cards, but I couldn’t get a concrete location. Just… images. Not as many contradictory ones as I’d gotten on the way here, but enough to be frustrating. So then I started drawing and, well…” You gestured to the mess around you. “I got carried away.”

“Speaking of cards…” Jason grinned, producing a deck still in its shrink wrap to you with a small flourish. “Thought you could use something new, something that was your own. A lot of the cards you’ve been using look like they’re about to fall apart.”

Blinking, you carefully took the deck from him. There was something… strange about it. Not bad, or ominous. Just slightly off. The feeling faded quickly, though, until it was just a normal deck sitting heavy in your hands. You picked at the plastic with your nails until it peeled away, tapping the cards out of the box. They felt stiff, different from the easy bend of the cards you’d learned with, had used for two years. It felt… different. The illustrations were vibrant, ink still fresh and clear. You shuffled through until you found the Hanged Man, thumb brushing over the face. An odd sense of peace settled over you, corner of your lip twitching into an almost smile.

“You shouldn’t have,” you murmured.

“Nah, they were practically giving them away,” Jason said, waving your protest away. “Thought you might like a new set.”

Slipping the cards back into the box, you set it aside as you picked up a paper covered in roses. The one beneath it had camellias, orchids blooming from the ink on your skin. Frowning, you ran your fingers over the feather in your braid, downy under your touch.

“Is there a botanical garden in this city?” you asked.

“Pretty sure there is,” Jason answered, picking up the reams of paper and neatly stacking them. “Is that where the demon is?”

“I think so.” You sighed, smudging the fresher ink on your right arm with your thumb. “It’s still not completely clear, lots of jumbled images. But it would make sense, looking at all these flowers.”

“And all the wings, too,” he pointed out, taking the last few pieces of paper and placing them on top of the large stack he’d made. “Caim usually has the appearance of a thrush, right? Either that or a guy with the head and wings of a blackbird.”

“Right,” you confirmed. “But something just still doesn’t feel… right. It’s like there’s this layer of static laying over everything else.”

Jason let out a thoughtful noise, eyes traveling over the sketches on your skin.

“So, there’s things he doesn’t want you to see.”

“Yeah.” You gave a small nod, running a hand over your crawling skin. “I know there’s more to see, but I can’t see it yet. Not without… Well.”

“No.” Jason frowned. “We know enough.”

Your nails pressed against your skin. It would be so easy to press them through, draw a little blood, painful enough to just break through that final wall. But he reached out, pulled your hand away. You looked up at Jason, his brow furrowed.

“Don’t,” he said, voice soft. “We’ll go to the botanical gardens and figure things out from there.”

“But what if there’s something important that I need to know?” you asked, slipping your wrist from his grip and smoothing a hand over your braid once more. “What if it’s a trap? What if you get killed because I couldn’t see—”

“I’m not gonna die,” he interrupted.

“But—”

“No.” Jason sighed, standing up. “I’m not going to. Neither are you. Have a little hope.”

Right. Hope. It fluttered in your heart, weak but alive, fragile as butterfly wings. You pressed your hand over your heart, closed your eyes. Together, you and Jason had already taken out four threats. You’d lived to this point. And although you knew the road would only get rougher from that point on, you were also growing. Changing. Despite the crawling darkness in the corners of your being, that little bright spot of hope was still there.

“Okay,” you whispered, looking back up at him. Your heart beat, strong and sure. “I believe in you. In us.”

“Attagirl.” He extended his hand to you, leather gloves still on. “Let’s get prepared. You see if you can find anything else, I’ll find what I can on the botanical gardens and any places he could be hiding.”

With a small nod, you took his hand, let him pull you up with an ease that had a strange flush rising to your cheeks. Looking away, you retracted your hand, trying not to think of the warmth you could feel even through the glove.

“The girl,” you blurted, gaze shooting up to his. “Did you find her?”

A shadow passed over his face. His eyes flashed, the eerie glow brighter for a split second as his jaw clenched. The hand that had held your own clenched, leather creaking as he let it fall to his side in a tight fist. He didn’t need to say anything. You knew, even before he spoke, what he had found.

“She was dead,” he rasped. “Had been for a few days.”

“Oh.” You started to reach for him but stopped, clasping your hands over your chest instead. “I’m… sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“But… maybe if I had been able to see her earlier—”

“We weren’t even in the city yet,” Jason interrupted, resting his hand on your shoulder and giving it a small squeeze. “You can’t save everybody, Delphi. It sucks, and I wish I could change it. But sometimes… sometimes things are just out of your control.”

“Will she at least be avenged?” you asked.

“Yeah.” His smile was strained, dark. “Rose will make sure the guys who killed her get what they deserve.”

But what was it that they deserved? Was it death, violent and quick? You weren’t sure. Although you’d never met the girl, you felt for her. To die alone, found days later and forgotten by so many, seemed the greatest cruelty. You frowned, shook your head.

“Even then, I’m not sure if it’s _truly_ what they deserve,” you said.

Jason raised an eyebrow, head tilting as his hand slid from your shoulder.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I… I believe in mercy,” you told him. “That despite all the evil in the world, most people have good in their hearts but… They left her to die alone and in pain. Forgotten in the world. I don’t know what punishment would truly fit that crime.”

“They’ll get what they deserve,” Jason said, voice firm. “Maybe it isn’t here, in life. But they will, Delphi. I know it.”

“I hope you’re right.” You sighed, shook your head. “I’ll… go and get ready.”

Giving him one last nod, you retreated to your room, leaning against the door once you’d closed it behind you. As you pulled on a pair of jeans and tossed aside your skirt, tucking the knife Jason had given you in your waistband and retrieving your coat, you hoped that he was correct.

The darkness growing in you wanted nothing more than justice, swift and sure. But you knew better. All you could do was hope that Rose was able to avenge the girl properly.

\---

The setting sun cast a bloody pallor over the city, fading light giving way to growing shadows and setting you on edge. Jason had managed to sneak you in with a special group that was spending the night in the gardens, all of them congregating at one of the pavilions while you snuck off, heading further in. Only once you were out of sight did Jason pull back his hood, motioning for you to do the same.

“I’m sure they’ve got some kind of surveillance set up in here,” he said, glancing around the hedges that surrounded you. “But considering I saw an open bar at that party, they’re gonna be focused on them and not so much on the other parts of the garden.”

“Right,” you murmured, letting your fingers skim over the greenery. “… He’s here, I can feel it.”

The dark presence had crept up on you the farther you’d gotten from the party, from the string lights and lively chatter. You could feel him in your bones, close by but impossible to pin point. The scars on your right palm itched, fingers twitching as you turned back to Jason.

“I don’t know where,” you admitted. “But he’s close.”

“No need to rush it,” he said, tipping his head up to watch the sun sink further on the horizon. “Although I can’t say whether this place will be as weird and wrong as the rest of the city once night falls.”

You would be on it being just as uncanny. Already there was a chill travelling down your spine as you made your way through the hedges. Passing under trellises of pink roses rendered crimson by the sunset, you rested a hand on the handle of the knife you’d tucked into the back of your waistband. Although you were not skilled with it, couldn’t really fight, it would at least help you buy some time to run. Emerging from the rose gardens, you watched the red sun bleed away into darkness, the full moon rising silver at your back. Gravel crunched under Jason’s boots as he stuck close behind you, his own hand hovering over the pistol holstered at his hip.

There was a flutter of wings and you jumped back from a bush of dripping white flowers, watching a dark bird take flight. Jason took you by the arm, maneuvered you behind him as the bird alighted up on one of the lights that flickered on just ahead of you. Dark, beady eyes watched you, the creature just as still as you were. Your breath caught in your chest, your fingers gripping at the back of Jason’s jacket as he slowly pulled his gun.

“I see you have a few tricks up your sleeve, little oracle,” the bird spoke. The beak did not open, the deep voice echoing in your head. From the way Jason stiffened, you knew that he could hear it too. “Archangel feathers to ward off the influence of demons. Very clever.”

“Hello, Caim,” you said, voice shaking.

“I expected you to be a little smarter than this,” Jason growled, aiming at the massive bird, its form shifting the longer you stared at it. “Pretty ballsy to just show yourself and not expect me to blow your bird brains out.”

Caim laughed, the sound rolling and low, the thunder inside of you answering in a way that had you shuddering and pressing closer to Jason. The bird cocked its head, unblinking stare on Jason as his finger curled around the trigger.

“Who says that I’m here?”

With that, the bird simply flickered out of existence. One moment it was there. The next it was gone. You hadn’t even blinked. But he was still close, pressing in around you, your mind reeling as you turned your head to try and find him.

“Maybe I’m right here,” his voice whispered on your blind side.

You whipped around with a frightened cry, but found no one there. Jason pulled you back against him, gloved fingers gripping the dip of your waist tight as he slowly backed the two of you further into the foliage. Each crunch of gravel under your feet felt deafening in the silence that had fallen. The distant chatter of the party had disappeared, replaced that a stillness that felt unnatural. Your fingers closed around the hilt of your knife as you pulled out of Jason’s grip, turned to spot the warm glow of an observatory in the distance.

“That way,” you whispered. Something was calling you, beckoning you.

Your surroundings seemed to fade as you led the way, gaze zeroing in on the building. The walk seemed to take much less time than it should have, Jason pausing behind you when he made the same realization. A water garden stretched between you and the observatory, shining surface of the moon reflected in its surface. You crouched at the edge, fingertips skimming over the surface and creating ripples in your own reflection.

For a fleeting moment, the face staring back at you was not your own. The skin was too pale, no scars over your blind eye. The reflection smiled, sharp white teeth glinting as their eyes glowed red. You blinked, shook your head. When you looked back at the still surface of the water, it was your own face reflected once more, eyes wide with terror.

You turned to look back at Jason, but he was no longer there. Heart in your throat, you looked wildly around, stumbling to your feet.

“Jason?” you called, voice echoing.

Only silence answered you. Fear and genuine concern for his concern made for a terrible mixture, your hands shaking as you slowly made your way towards the observatory. Although the light inside was warm, you felt colder and colder with each step. Whatever was happening, you only hoped that Jason was okay. That his own instincts would keep him safe, as your own were trying to. Drawing your knife, you pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The observatory was colder than the gardens had been, your breath fogging in front of you. Despite the lights hanging above your head, the shadows, few as they were, seemed somehow larger. You glanced up, through the glass dome ahead of you, and saw nothing but a blank, flat black. No stars, no moon. Only darkness.

You were in Caim’s domain now. His territory, his rules. Tightening your grip on the hilt, you took a few more steps inside the observatory.

“Why are you so frightened?” Caim asked, a hand coming to rest on your shoulder, voice coming once more from your blind side.

Turning slowly this time, you slowly looked up at the demon who stood just behind you. Unlike Orias and Belial, his appearance was not plain. But his beauty was far more threatening than Samael and Lilith’s. His skin shone gold in the light, shiny black hair cut stylishly and falling just above his umber eyes. His lips were pink and full, parting in a smile that flashed white fangs and charming dimples. Had you not known that he was a demon, you would have thought him a prince, with his good looks and the loose white shirt and black slacks he wore. You stumbled back from him a step, raising the knife with trembling hands.

“Where is Jason?” you demanded, trying to put force behind your words.

But they came out weak, as weak as you felt before the demon. Caim continued to smile, holding up his hands.

“He’s not dead,” he purred, “at least, not yet. I wanted to take care of you first, oracle.”

You watched him closely, his movements far too graceful as he stepped around you. His eyes roamed over you, cold and calculating. Turning with him, you kept the gleaming blade between you and Caim. But he did not seem at all concerned about the weapon. If anything, your wordless threat seemed to amuse him. Finally, he reached out, clawed fingers uncomfortably hot against your skin. The scar on your right arm and hand flared with pain and you cried out, fingers spasming and dropping the knife. It clattered to the ground as he kept an iron grip around your right wrist, pulling you closer to him so that he could inspect the Lichtenberg figures branching over your skin.

“Each encounter makes you stronger.” The tips of his claws dug into your skin, blood welling but not quite painful. No, he was smarter than that. “How long until you wake up to what you truly are, I wonder?”

“I know what I am,” you mumbled, eyes flickering up to meet his. “I know _who_ I am.”

“Oh?” Caim laughed, cruel and cutting. He tugged you even closer, your chest pressed against his as he bent close to your face. “You have no idea, child. No idea of what you are _truly_ capable of. Tell me, how would you define yourself?”

You hesitated for a moment, thoughts dazed as his warm breath fanned over your cheeks. Although you hated to admit it, the demon was having an effect on you, his free hand pressed to the small of your back to keep you close.

“I…” You trailed off for a moment, lost in his sparkling eyes. “I’m an Elioud, a child of the Nephilim. My blood is a weapon, along with my sight.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting one very important thing.” Caim dipped his head, lips brushing against the shell of your ear and making you shudder. “What about the rot in the corners of your soul?”

Frozen, you stared at him with wide eyes as he pulled back, burning touch disappearing as he stepped away. The warmth blooming in your chest was replaced with ice, the storm in your heart slowly beginning to grow. When you looked down at your hands, the skin began to blacken and rot, flesh falling away from bone. Screaming, you shut your eyes, shook your head.

None of it was real. _None of it was real!_

“Oh, you poor, unloved thing,” Caim said, his voice surrounding you even as you pressed your hands over your ears. “What of the storms that you call to you? What of the lightning that rips itself from your very flesh and bone? What of the darkness that threatens to smother your divinity?”

“Shut up,” you whimpered, crouching and squeezing your eyes further shut. “Shut up…”

“Your father may have been a Nephilim, but what of your mother?” He chuckled, the sound sharp against your frayed nerves. “What about the thing that’s awoken inside of you that you _hate_ , oracle? That threatens to crush you from the inside out? What happens when your Lazarus discovers what monstrous decay lives inside of you?”

Pitching forward, you pressed your forehead to the ground, screamed until your throat was raw. Your nails dug into your scalp as the storm inside you reached a fever pitch. Hope, delicate and small, began to wither under its force. Slowly, you opened your eyes, raised your head to find Caim knelt before you. There was pity in his gaze as he reached out to graze his knuckles over your jaw. Tears spilled from your eyes, breath catching on a sobbing hiccup.

“He’ll never love you,” Caim whispered. “Who could? Such a wretched little thing you are. Nothing more than a means to an end. All you’ve known was cruelty, oracle, and cruelty is all you will continue to know. Do you truly think that you will stand a chance against the angel of death when he catches you?”

“No…” you whispered.

“No,” he agreed, moving closer, cupping your face in his hands. “But I can at least make these last fleeting moments of sanity sweet for you. All you have to do is say yes.”

“Ah…” you blinked, a fresh wave of tears slipping down your cheeks. Your numb fingers closed around the hilt of your knife, a surge of courage rising in you. “No.”

Throwing yourself forward, you drove the blade into his gut. But Caim did not recoil, did not scream or curse. No, instead, he smiled, his form flickering. Then it was Jason kneeling in front of you, glowing green eyes slowly losing their light. Slick blood coated your fingers as you stared in horror. But Caim’s grin was still on his face, fingers closing over your own and driving the blade in deeper, twisting it.

“Will you kill me, Delphi?” he asked with Jason’s voice. “I would have expected it from something like you.”

Crying out, you ripped yourself from his grip, knife slipping out of him as you scrambled backwards. Not-Jason flickered again as he stood. Then you were staring up at yourself. You, when you were only a teenager, thin white dress stained with blood. Your own hazel eyes stared back at you, one not yet blinded, fresh bruises blooming on your reflection’s skin.

“Will you kill yourself, 127?” your own voice asked you, weak and trembling.

Once more you dropped the knife, the loose grip you’d had on your sanity loosening. Shadows crawled up the walls, swallowed the light and plunged you into darkness. You watched as your reflection picked up the knife, continued to advance on you. In the blink of an eye, it was Caim before you again, his hand wrapped around your throat as he slammed you onto your back. Gasping for breath, you watched as he twirled the knife with a cruel grin.

“Only fair I return the favor, don’t you think?” he asked before plunging the knife into your gut.

Screaming pain lit your nerves and you cried out, his fingers loosening around your throat. Curling in on yourself, your shaking fingers closed around the hilt buried in your stomach. Hot blood began to bloom from the wound, the euphoric rush of prophecy crashing over you like a wave.

_Rage, roaring white hot through your veins, burning you from the inside out. A bloody crowbar, manic laughter. A nightmare you thought you had grown past, echoing again and again. Damning red countdown, your mother’s screams. An explosion. Then back again. And again. And again. No hope. No escape. But then you hear her. Hear her screams, breaking through it all. Burning feather against the skin of your chest, the illusion shattering and leaving you kneeling in the grass. You break through the darkness and let the rage shape you. Change you. Make a monster of you._

Not a prophecy. A vision, only moments from happening. Your own screams echoed in your ears, the heat of the blast lingering on your skin. Fingers slick with blood, you reached up and touched the feather braided into your hair, ignoring the way it burned against your skin. Slowly, the shadows melted away. Caim looked startled as clarity returned to you. The moon shone above you, cast its silvery light on the blade as you pulled the knife from your gut. A fresh wave of pain kept you on the ground, but you managed a weak smile as you let go of your hair and pressed your palm over the wound.

“Thank you for the vision,” you told him.

Moments later the glass behind Caim shattered. Jason stepped through the melting darkness, eyes blazing as he drew his gun and shot out the demon’s knees. As Caim fell with a startled cry, he continued his approach, rage rolling off him in waves. He looked an angry god, descending upon the demon to deliver divine retribution. Still clutching at your wound with one hand and the knife with the other, you pushed yourself to your feet, ignoring the waves of pain that radiated through you. Wavering for only one moment, you lifted your eyes and found Jason staring back at you.

But there was something… different about him. More than the rage, more than the hatred. The glow in his eyes was brighter, his form seeming to shift for a moment. You opened your mouth to speak, but he had moved to stand in front of you in the blink of an eye. Holstering the gun, he reached out, calloused palm pressing over your bloodied hand. There was a distance to his gaze, his skin too hot against your own.

“Jason?” you whispered.

Eyes narrowing, he turned away from you again. Caim had begun to crawl towards you, face twisted from beautiful to horrifying, his mouth too wide, eyes opening across his skin as wings burst from his back. Jason pushed you behind him, his other hand taking the knife from you. The demon let out a low hiss, a second set of arms ripping from his shoulders as he pushed himself to stand.

“Lazarus,” Caim thundered, hundreds of eyes blazing with anger. “I thought I’d taken care of you.”

“If you think that would take me down, you’re wrong.” Jason’s voice was a low rumble, sending a chill down your spine. “I’ve had worse.”

The demon moved so fast he was a blur, clawed hands reaching for Jason. But he dodged out of the way, pushing you with him, moving inhumanly fast. When you stumbled, he caught you by the wrist, his other hand still warding off Caim’s brutal swings with the bloodied knife. It was hard for you to keep up, trying your best to stay out of the way. When your heels hit the edge of the fountain installed in the middle of the space, you fell backwards in the water with a startled yelp.

Blood bloomed from your stomach, staining the water as it drowned out the sounds of the fight still raging only a few feet away from you. Surfacing with a gasp, you pushed hair away from your face and blinked. In the few short moments you’d been in the water, Jason had overpowered Caim, one foot planted on his back and his wings sticking out at broken, sickening angles. Knife in hand, he sawed away at each wing, the demon’s screams deafening as he cut off the feathered limbs. Vision blurring, you tried to staunch your bleeding with your hand again, watching as the bloodied, discarded wings melted into stinking puddles of ichor.

Jason hauled the demon to his knees by his hair, his eyes blazing in the dark. Bloodied, Caim’s eyes met your own, his pristine white shirt stained a deep red. You watched with wide eyes as Jason brought the knife to Caim’s throat and cut deep. Dark blood spurted from the wound, wet gasps and wheezes coming from the demon’s gaping mouth as Jason slowly but surely cut his head off. The body fell limp to the ground, blood still gushing from the stump of his neck. The light went out of Caim’s eyes, mouth hanging slack in death.

Covered in blood and breathing heavily, Jason dropped the head, the fire in his eyes fading slowly until he was once again familiar. His eyes were hooded in exhaustion as he looked over to you. Knife clattering to the ground, he made his unsteady way over to you until he was on his knees in front of you. Your left hand still clutching at your stomach, you reached out with your right, shaking fingers brushing over the scar on his jaw. Leaning into the touch, Jason sighed, his eyes slipping closed.

“Jason?” you asked again.

“It’s me,” he murmured. “I… don’t know what came over me.”

“That was you, too.” You felt faint, words slurring as your eyes struggled to stay open. “And also not you. Primal, furious. You, but enhanced by the Pit.”

You tipped forward, breathing shallow as Jason caught you. He pulled your hand away from your stomach, cursed when he saw the blood, the wound. Your fingers felt cold, your limbs somehow distant from your own body. He lifted you from the water, cradled you close to his chest as he ran. You could feel his frantic heart racing against your cheek, the moon shining above you.

“Delphi,” he panted, running headlong through the shadows, ignoring the darkness lurking there. “You gotta hold on, okay?”

“It’s not my time,” you mumbled. “I will be fine.”

Then you closed your eyes, and let unconsciousness claim you.

\---

 _Find me,_ a voice whispered in the dark. A silken touch, ancient and knowing. _Find me._

It slipped away with you.

\---

When you woke, you realized several things at once.

The first was that your stomach hurt _terribly._ You had suffered through worse injuries in the compound, but the soreness hit you just as hard as it had for both of your punishments. The second was that you were lying not in the bedroom you’d claimed as your own in the safehouse, but the one Jason had chosen. The last was that your nose was bleeding heavily.

With a muted groan you turned on your side, spitting up a mouthful of blood and trying to tip your head forward so that no more blood went down your throat. A hand rested on your back, another coming into your blurred field of vision to press tissues to your nose. Coughing, you accepted the help, holding the tissues up to soak the blood. When you glanced over, you realized it was Rose Wilson crouched next to you, careful to stay on the side where you could see her.

“Good to see you’re up,” she said with a small grin. “I thought you’d be out for at least a few more hours.”

Pulling away the sodden tissues, you coughed up one last glob of blood before speaking, voice hoarse.

“Where’s Jason?”

“In the kitchen,” she said, amused. You weren’t certain why the question was so funny to her. “Making coffee and breakfast.”

“Oh.” You relaxed. When no more blood came from your nose, you allowed Rose to take the tissues from you, tossing them in the trash. “Why are you here?”

“Todd called in a favor instead of payment,” she explained, helping you sit up. “You’d lost a fair bit of blood, and he didn’t want to risk transfusing his. So I brought over a few bags of O Neg. Kept an eye on you after he stitched you up so that he could get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, wincing as you felt the stitches pull. You glanced down, lifted up the clean shirt you’d been changed into to look at your stomach. Bandages had been wound around your torso, but when you gently prodded at the area of the wound, you realized it was wider, longer than you’d thought. “I’m, um. I’m sorry. About your informant.”

Rose sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing at the back of her neck.

“I’m sorry about her, too.” She shook her head. “Should have checked in on her more, warned her to be more cautious.”

“What are you going to do?”

Rose just smiled, a cruel expression.

“What needs to be done,” she said.

Jason stepped in the room at that moment, carrying two mugs of coffee. There were dark rings under his eyes, and you knew that he had not slept as he claimed. But when his gaze fell on you, his expression brightened. Handing off one of the mugs to Rose, he sat on the other side of the bed.

“You’re up,” he said, relief lacing each syllable. “How are you feeling?”

“Um, still in a bit of pain,” you admitted. “But nothing that I haven’t felt before.”

Silence fell at your words, Jason and Rose both looking at you in a mixture of disbelief and horror. Jason had known about some of your abuse, clearly, since he’d seen your scars. But it still seemed to shock him. Rose, on the other hand, was ignorant to your past. She gave him a loaded look, a silent question. He answered her with a small shake of his head. You’d had to fully turn your head to see both of them, frowning.

“Well,” Rose said, clearing her throat as she stood. She passed the mug of coffee to you. “I think it’s time for me to get back to work. But a bit of unsolicited advice?” Her expression was serious as she met your eye, each word heavy. “Go back home. Get out while you can. Before you become collateral.”

With that, she turned and left the room. Silence hung as you stared at the door, Jason’s presence heavy by your side. When the front door slammed shut, he let out a long, heavy sigh. The bed shifted as he got up, moved to your other side so that you could see him.

“She’s… probably right you know,” he said, mattress dipping under his weight as he sat.

“I can’t go home,” you admitted.

Jason frowned, shaking his head.

“What do you mean?”

“Azrael is hunting me,” you confessed, staring down at the dark surface of your coffee. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m here with you, or back in Gotham. Either way, I’m in danger. But at least if I’m here, with you, I have some agency. At least I get to choose the danger.”

“How long have you known?” There was no anger in his voice, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Since Providence. I have no idea if he’s tracking us, hunting me down as we speak. But at least here, with you, I’m safer.”

Jason was quiet for a while, sipping at his coffee. With each moment that passed, you grew tenser, uncertain if he was going to send you back to Gotham, anyways. Eventually he relented, rubbing at his eyes.

“This whole thing is so fucked,” he grumbled. “I don’t even know if I can keep you safe from these demons, Delphi.”

“That’s okay,” you told him. Hesitated for a moment, then laid a hand on his arm. His muscles tensed under the touch. “I can keep myself safe from them. Azrael… I’m less sure about him. But I want to have a choice in my own destiny. Just this once, even if it might be the wrong choice.”

Reaching up, Jason guided your head to rest on his shoulder. Gently, tenderly. As if you could shatter under his touch. You closed your eyes and leaned against him, found some comfort in how warm and solid he was. A protective presence, even if he doubted it himself.

 _He’ll never love you,_ Caim’s voice whispered to you, cold and cruel.

Although you knew it was true, you let yourself pretend, just for a moment. Pretend that someone could find it in their heart to love something like you. That you were deserving of it.

 _Here is the deepest secret that no one knows,_ you recited to yourself, basking in Jason’s presence and letting your heart break just a little further. _I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)._

You only hoped that your selfish desire to stay by his side wouldn’t ruin him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some recommended listening:   
> [Phoenix (Carpenter Brut Remix)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_pjwRvLnF0w)  
> [The Maiden](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdI7R1XzHMQ)  
> [Twilight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Njp-J2s5uw)  
> [ZVVL](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBsq4DC6Jv4)
> 
> [main tumblr](https://spidergwenn.tumblr.com/)  
> [writing/inspo tumblr](https://violettelee.tumblr.com/)  
> discord: mynoghraa#8836


	6. Part Five: The Chariot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: brief non-explicit mention of sexual abuse, discussion of trauma, mild dehumanization, self-harm, violence, gore, unreality, vomiting, self-hatred. chapter is in jason's pov, 3rd person.

Slowly, surely, Delphi was beginning to bloom.

With each passing day, Jason watched as she grew more into herself. He pretended to sleep while she read poetry and fiction to herself, voice soft in the shadows. He noticed that she was beginning to fill out her clothes, that her skin, once pallid, was now beginning to flush with life, freckles kissing her cheeks and shoulders from the sun. More than that, he noticed the spark of hope that had once lit her eye now replaced by a blazing hunger. Hunger for knowledge, for understanding of herself, for companionship. Their once stilted conversations now flowed easily, lasting well into the night until one of them finally surrendered to exhaustion.

But he also learned about her. He learned each of her nervous tics, how she was never quite able to stay still, always fidgeting in her seat or worrying at something with her fingers. He discovered that she had a soft, pleasant singing voice, so quiet that it was sometimes hard to hear over the radio in the truck. Her favorite color was yellow, because it reminded her of sunflowers, and she was scared of both wide open spaces and crowded little rooms. She liked the smell of rain and the feeling of it on her skin, the distant roll of thunder and the way lightning could illuminate even the darkest spaces.

And in return, he opened up to her. Slowly, careful not to show her the ugly sides of him, the rot festering at the edges of his soul. Jason told her that he liked chili dogs because a vendor back in Gotham would give them to him for free, when he’d lived on the streets. He told her that he preferred physical copies of books because he liked the feeling of paper between his fingers, the weight of it in his hands. He shared his favorite books with her, wrote them down so that she could exchange the ones she’d finished for new ones in the next town they rolled through.

They’d stayed in New Orleans for three days after she was injured, enough time for her to slowly get her energy back. When she was able to walk around the house in circuits by herself, they said goodbye to Rose (who kept giving him smug grins any time she caught him so much as glancing at Delphi, much to his annoyance), and hit the road again. They had to sleep in the truck that first night, curled on opposite sides of the truck bed with Schnitzel sleeping between them.

Jason had barely gotten any sleep that night, every movement and sound that Delphi made far more distracting than he cared to admit. By the time the sun rose, he figured he’d only gotten maybe a couple hours of sleep total. He’d tried to be quiet, but Schnitzel had woken up with him, jumping from the truck with an enthused bark to run out into the field they’d parked in. Delphi let out a soft noise as she slowly began to wake, sitting up and blinking blearily at him as he slipped out of the truck bed to stand at the bumper and stretch.

“What time is it?” she asked, words slurred and hair a tangled mess.

“Quarter past six,” he told her, glancing at his watch and grunting as he worked out a kink in his right shoulder. “Sorry for waking you up. I was hoping you could get a bit more sleep.”

“No,” she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes, “it’s okay. Did you get any rest?”

“A bit,” he lied. “Enough to be alert. You can sleep while we drive into Texas, if you want.”

“No, no, I need to see if I can find anything about the next demon.” Delphi crawled out of her sleeping bag, shirt askew, and he quickly looked away. “My dreams were really weird last night, so I need to do some readings to make sense of them.”

“Just make sure you don’t push yourself, okay?” He turned his back to her, hyper aware of every sound she made behind him. The shuffle of fabric, the creaking of the truck as she shifted her weight, the muted sound of her yawn. “Are your stitches still holding up?”

“Oh, yes.” She had slipped out of the truck and come to stand next to him, shirt fixed and combing out her thick, dark hair with her fingers. Jason realized with a small jolt that she’d stood so that he was on her blind side. “My stomach aches a bit, which is probably why I was seeing things while I slept. But it’s still much better than it was before we left.”

Before he could respond, Schnitzel came bounding out of the tall grass, throwing himself at Delphi and almost knocking her over. She let out a startled little laugh, regaining her balance and rubbing at his ears as he braced his front paws on her thighs. Jason let out a soft whistle, frowning at the dog and pointing at the ground.

“Down,” he ordered, ignoring the way Schnitzel whined as he backed off. “You know better than that, bud.”

“It’s okay,” Delphi said, kneeling to continue to pet the dog. “He’s just excited.”

Jason considered pointing out that being excited was no excuse to act poorly and in ways that went against his training, but decided against it. Sure, he’d have to train Schnitzel all over again when they got back home because of her tendency to spoil the hell out of him, but that was fine. Delphi was happy, Schnitzel was happy. That was what mattered, for the moment. So he just sighed instead, letting her fuss over the dog as he rolled up their sleeping bags and pulled out his phone to check out a map of the area. There was a town less than an hour’s drive out, which would surely have a diner where they could stop and get some breakfast.

After a bit of coaxing, both girl and dog got into the truck and he started it up, pulling back out onto the road and blinking away his exhaustion. A country song played softly on the radio, Schnitzel settling into the middle panel as Delphi stared out the window at the passing scenery. All of it was new to her, a reality she’d only been able to experience through picture and film previously. Jason had been worried it would be a sensory overload, too much for her at once, but she absorbed it all easily. Or if she did struggle, she kept it quiet and hidden away from him.

“I’m still undone, not quite young,” the singer on the radio crooned, Delphi’s soft voice echoing him, “But I, I still try, cross my heart, now I hope to die.”

Smothering a smile, Jason hummed along as well, unable to pick up on the words as easily as she seemed to, but finding the melodies. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel as they drove on, the road stretching ahead. The sunrise painted the sky a soft blend of pinks and peaches, rolling fields on the horizon making for a peaceful image. As much as he missed Gotham, it was nice to see something other than a city skyline, the oppressive sprawl of crumbling buildings and ruin.

It was a moment of peace shattered when Bargain Store began to play over the radio. While Jason enjoyed the song, hummed the first few bars of it, Delphi had stiffened in her seat. He didn’t notice until she surged forward and turned off the radio. When he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the color had drained from her face, eyes wide as she stared at the volume knob she had violently slapped. A chill crawled up the back of his neck at her expression.

He knew that expression far, far too well.

“Not a fan of Dolly Parton?” he asked, trying to cut through the sudden tension.

“I… no, it’s not that.” Her voice was tight, hands curled into tight fists on her lap as she continued to stare, unseeing. “It’s just… It’s just that song.”

Jason remained quiet, let her have the space to either change the subject or explain why. When she took a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Keeping his attention on the road had become difficult.

“One of the girls,” she whispered, “only spoke prophecy if she… um, if she orgasmed. There was a Keeper there who was… responsible for her procedures. The Matron would observe them. But he started to make late night trips to some of the other girls in their rooms. He always sang that song when he passed by my room. I… I was only fourteen then, but he was working his way down towards my end of the hall.” She paused and he saw her turn to stare out the window again. “They only stopped him when he was two rooms away from mine.”

“What happened to him?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

“I don’t know.” She sighed again, hugged herself. “I never saw him again. I suspect that he was disposed of like the prophets who stopped being useful.”

“What about the girls?”

Delphi was silent for a few long, terrible moments.

“There were six of them,” she finally whispered. “Four of them disappeared after they were deemed too damaged for further use.”

Each new piece of information she gave him about her childhood somehow seemed to get worse and worse. Jason had never been a fan of the Order of St. Dumas, with what little he did know of them. Azrael had been mostly absent from Gotham for the past few years, either (apparently) AWOL or following his own agenda. Bruce had been the one to deal with them, for the most part, and he hadn’t been in good standing with the others the last time any of the Order’s agents had been a large presence in the city.

But this new side, the one they’d hidden away so skillfully that not even the Justice League had found out about it? It only deepened his hatred. Children raised as tools to be used up and then disposed of, taught to think of themselves as less than, ruled over with fear tactics. Considering everything she had been through, or at least what she had told him about, Delphi was amazingly well adjusted. Deeply traumatized, yes, and unable to really engage with the world and the people around her. But still clinging to a bit of sanity, to hope and kindness, when she had every reason to hate the world and what it had done to her.

“You said that you don’t know if Azrael burned that place down after you escaped,” he managed to say, jaw clenched.

“Yeah…” Her voice was faint, distant. Fading.

“If they’re sending him after you now,” he said, “there’s a good chance that they weren’t destroyed. That you’re somehow a threat now. So when all these demons are taken care of, we’re going to go and get whatever kids we can from that place, and then we’re going to destroy it. For good.”

“Jason.” Her hand rested on his arm, making him jolt and almost veer off the road. When he straightened out and glanced at her, she was frowning. “That’s… a very noble sentiment. But you know that they’ll only make another compound, right?”

“Then we’ll make sure that never happens again. Whatever it takes, whoever we need to get involved.”

Easier said than done, he knew. It would take more than just him, more than just her. Hell, more than all of Bruce’s little army combined. Anger swelled hot and heavy in his chest as he thought of all those kids, trapped in a cycle of abuse and discarded like trash the moment they were deemed too broken to function any further. How long had it been going on? How many lives had been lost? How many children had been born to think they were unworthy of kindness?

Schnitzel let out a soft whine, picking up on his slow burning rage. Taking a deep breath, he rested a hand on the dog’s head. Delphi had pulled her hand from him, leaned back against the door with a distant expression. While she’d had hope for herself, her own freedom, it was becoming increasingly clear that that fragile hope didn’t extend to the other children, past, present, and future.

Heart breaking a little more, Jason switched the radio over to a classical music station and let the quiet, tragic melodies fill the silence between them.

\---

The diner that they stopped at was small, family-owned, and manned by a friendly waitress and a fry cook who whistled as he worked. Grateful for coffee, Jason took a moment to drink as much of it as he could at once while Delphi took out the tarot deck he’d given her. Schnitzel sat alert in the driver’s seat of the truck outside, windows cracked and air conditioning running. Finally setting down his mug and giving the waitress a soft ‘thank you’ when she immediately came over to top it off, he watched as Delphi shuffled the deck deftly and spread the cards out in front of her. Her hand immediately hovered over one card, which she flipped over.

“The Chariot,” she whispered. “A card of war, vengeance, trouble.”

“Hm.” He frowned, leaning forward to get a better look at the card. “Anything else you’re picking up?”

“I…” She paused, her fingers twitching before settling over another card and slowly turning it over. “Yes. The Eight of Swords. And…” Another pause, another card flipped over. “The Five of Pentacles.”

When she did not continue, frowning down at the cards, he cleared his throat.

“Oh!” She blinked, shook her head. “Right… I’m sorry. The Eight of Swords is a card that indicates restriction and imprisonment. The Five of Pentacles represents isolation.”

“Which means that either we have imprisonment and isolation in our future,” he said, frowning, “or this demon is one that’s been imprisoned somewhere.”

“I… I believe that it’s the latter.” Delphi shuffled the cards back together, carefully sliding them back into their box. “It’s just my feeling. It also feels personal, somehow. Like this is a confrontation that the demon wants from you, specifically.”

“So, we’ve got an imprisoned demon related to war and violence who has a personal beef with me.” Jason sighed, rubbed at his face. Even with coffee, the exhaustion he felt was bone deep. Hard to overcome. “Great.”

“If I had brought my books on demonology, I may be able to look up some information, but…” She shook her head, tugging her sleeves over her hands and frowning. “I didn’t. I’m sorry, Jason.”

“It’s fine.” Pausing as the waitress dropped off their breakfasts (omelet platter with toast and sausage for him, waffles and bacon for her), he waited until she was out of earshot before he continued. “We can stop at a bookstore and get one for you. Maps of the areas, too, so you can track down where this one is.”

Prodding at her food with her fork, she let out a soft, barely audible sigh. Before she spoke, he knew what she was about to say.

“Jason, you don’t have to keep buying things for me,” she murmured. “Please, I can find other ways to get the information.”

Other ways. His eyes flicked to the small, faded scar on the back of her hand from their first encounter, when she’d cut herself for that first terrible prophecy. Stomach turning at the thought of her spilling her own blood, hurting herself for him, he shook his head.

“No.” He stabbed a sausage link with more violence than necessary, brow furrowed. “You’re out here on my behalf. The least I can do is get you the supplies that you need. And there’s… there’s other options. There’s always options.”

“I…” Eyes narrowing, she finally picked up a piece of bacon, nibbling on it. “Okay.”

Lapsing into silence as they both ate their breakfast, Jason glanced up when a few locals came into the diner. None seemed to be a threat, too focused on their own conversations and orders to recognize the outsiders in their midst. Relaxing just a fraction, he finished off his food and pushed the plate closer to the edge of the table. As Delphi finished off the last of her own food, he pulled out his phone, checking maps once more.

“Okay,” he said once she’d finished and stacked her plate on top of his own. “Looks like there’s a bookstore a few blocks over. We can stop in there and see what they’ve got.”

“It might be a good idea to find a motel to stay in here, too,” she replied, sipping at her own coffee. “You look very tired, and I think we both need to clean our clothes and take a shower.”

Jason couldn’t help but wince. Was it really that obvious how exhausted he was?

“I don’t know,” he said. “The sooner we can get this taken care of the better.”

“Perhaps.” Delphi set down her mug, frowning at him. “But you can’t expect to do your best if you aren’t fully functional. You… you need to take care of yourself.”

The look she gave him… it was hard to say no to. Sincere, soft, kind. Although her hair fell in a way that obscured her scarred eye, the one that was visible was filled with genuine concern. Gritting his teeth, he carded his fingers through his hair and heaved a sigh.

He couldn’t afford to be this soft. But…

“Fine.” Looking away, he pulled out a fifty and placed it on the table. Even out of the corner of his eye, he could see the way she perked up, sliding out of her chair as he stood. “Bookstore first. And you have to promise me that you’ll take it easy, too.”

“I will.” Following after him as he left and giving a small wave as the waitress thanked them for coming in, she slid into the truck with him, Schnitzel obediently settling into his designated spot. “If you just want to drop me off and get a room, I should be fine for a while. You can pick me up later.”

“You sure?” Jason started up the truck but didn’t pull out yet, frowning at her. “I don’t mind going with you.”

“I know that you wouldn’t mind being in any bookstore,” she pointed out with a small smile. “But I’ll be fine. Schnitzel shouldn’t have to sit out in the truck any longer.”

A fair point. Schnitzel’s tail wagged at the mention of his name and Jason sighed. As wary as he was of leaving her alone for an extended period of time in a strange town, he also knew that if anything did happen, she’d call him. Backing out of the parking lot, he pulled out onto the main street.

“If anything happens—”

“I’ll let you know,” Delphi interrupted. “I’ll be fine, Jason.”

When he pulled up outside the store, the sign thankfully flipped to Open, she opened the door and stepped out. After a pause, she gave Schnitzel a pat as he moved into the passenger seat and offered Jason a flimsy smile.

“Good luck,” he said.

“Thanks.”

There was another pause, as if she was waiting for something. What it was, he had no idea. But she eventually closed the door and made her way into the store.

Jason lingered for a moment, catching a glimpse of her through the window. Taking a deep breath and pushing down a rush of warmth, he drove away. There were more important things to take care of.

\---

“You have a very nice singing voice, you know.”

Jason looked up at Delphi in surprise. While he’d sat down on the floor, back propped up against a wall as he scrolled through updates from back in Gotham, she was sitting up on the dryer in the tiny room that passed as the motel’s guest laundry. The dusty old leather-bound demonology book she’d picked out (and not let him pay for, much to his chagrin) sat in her lap, her fingers still skimming over the pages.

“Oh.” He blinked, feeling his ears flush. “Thanks.”

“It’s nice, when you sing in the car. Or when you’re in the shower.” Although she was still keeping her attention on the book, her lips twitched in a tiny smile. “You hum a lot when you work, too.”

“Guess I never noticed,” he admitted. “When I was a kid, I did a bit of theater and picked up the habit when I was practicing songs for auditions and stuff.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Hm?”

“Theater,” she elaborated, finally looking up from the book. “Did you enjoy theater?”

“Yeah.” With a small chuckle, he set aside his phone and let his head roll back to rest against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “It was a constructive way for me to express myself. At least, that’s what Alfred told me, when he recommended I try it out.”

“Alfred was the butler in the house you were taken into, right?”

“Yeah.” He’d carefully omitted Bruce’s name from the small amount of information he’d given her on his childhood. Best to keep her out of that mess for as long as he could. “Even though I was a total brat, he tried his best to help me.”

“It’s good that you had someone like him in your life.” When she smiled it was soft, warm. Genuine. A far cry from the first few awkward, strained attempts she’d made when they first met. “Did he help you find out that you love literature as well?”

“Nah.” Jason closed his eyes. “That was my stepmom. Before she got sick, she would take me to the library every Saturday and let me pick out two books to read for the week. Helped me escape from reality for a few hours a day.”

“She was the one who would make spanakopita, right?”

“Yeah.” A familiar twinge in his chest, the one he always felt when he thought of her. “That was her.”

“I know that you have had a difficult life,” she said softly, “and I hope that it isn’t offensive for me to say, but… You are very lucky to have people in your life who have loved you.”

“What about the old fortune teller who took you in?” Opening one eye to glance at her, he frowned.

“She was very kind to care for me while I was recovering.” Reaching up, Delphi hesitantly touched the vicious scars over her eye. “But she didn’t love me. She took me in because she owed a debt to Azrael. She was also dying, and I was the only person she could teach her skills to so that at least a small part of her remained after she passed.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” he said, sitting up straight. “She probably loved you in her own way. Maybe not like her own kid, but… to take someone in and give them what they need to recover takes some form of love and affection.”

“While that’s a nice sentiment,” she whispered, looking away from him, “she never expressed any love for me. I was her responsibility, that’s all.”

That reasoning seemed reductive, given the toolset Delphi had been given to avoid falling back into destructive habits and patterns. But he needed to be careful with how he spoke to her about it. Watching her carefully, he kept his voice low, soft when he spoke.

“You know, sometimes people can love others without expressing it. Even if it’s not a form of maternal love, it takes at least some small amount of care to take an abandoned child under your wing.”

The irony of him pointing that out did not escape Jason.

“I think I may have found something,” Delphi said, abruptly shifting the conversation.

Although he wanted to push the issue, to make sure she knew what he was trying to tell her, he dropped it for the time being. If she wasn’t open for it, shoving it down her throat would do nothing to help her accept his point. Standing up, he moved to stand in front of her, peering down at the book as she turned it in her lap to face him.

“Here,” she said, pointing to an illustration. “My fingertips itch if they get too close. I think this is the demon.”

“Moloch,” Jason sighed, glancing at the name under the faded ink. “Not just a demon. A Canaanite god who accepted child sacrifices through fire and war.”

Fitting. It would be some asshole deity that grew powerful through kids killed in war. War and flames. His hands curled into fists as he stared down at the bull-headed god depicted on the page. Was this the demon that death had planned to sell him over to? Had those long, brutal moments of pain and despair been savored by Moloch? Excited him, given him a fleeting moment of power?

Ensuring that the fucker would be out of commission, even if it was only temporary before he was reborn, was something he would take great joy in.

“I’m confused as to why he’s imprisoned, though.” Delphi adjusted the book in her lap, frowning. “I don’t see anything written here about that. Maybe it was punishment recently rendered?”

“Or maybe he chose it himself so that when I came for him, it would be on his home turf.” He turned when the dryer let out a little chime to indicate it had finished its cycle. “Let’s get our clothes and head back to the room. We can try to figure out where he’s holed up there.”

As they gathered up their clothes and headed back to the room, Jason watched her. The way her shoulders hunched, face turned towards the ground. Carefully making herself seem smaller, letting him walk a half step in front of her so that he could lead her. He opened the door for her, watched from the corner of his eye as she carefully folded her small amount of clothes and tucked them back into her backpack. Then she sat on the floor and opened the book back up, chewing on her thumbnail as she focused on the illustration.

He turned away to put away his own clothes, to pull out a map. When he sat down across from her and spread out the map, her eye was slow to look away from the book. Her gaze was unfocused, fingers twitching in her lap as her head slowly tilted to the side. A small trance, something about her just… shifting. Something he couldn’t put into words. She pushed the book to the side, fingers of her right hand ghosting over the map. Over twisting lines of highways and pinprick cities, hair falling in a curtain over her face and hiding it from him.

“Close…” she whispered, in a voice that was hers but not, familiar but strange. Her fingers traced over Texas and Oklahoma, twitching. “Close but far. There but not.”

Then she raised her left hand and bit into the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger. Alarmed, he started to reach for her, to stop her. But blood already ran down her chin, her head tipping back as she shuddered. Although he’d seen it before, the way her back arched, euphoric sigh leaving her bloodied lips, sent a chill down his spine. A twisted, profane vision of pleasure, her body going limp as he threw himself forward to catch her. Her eyes had rolled back, only the whites visible as she spoke.

“ _The shameful king rests in his prison of blood and flesh, waiting for his stolen sacrifice. It is a home, but not a home. It is his jail, but not a jail. Its will is his own, the walls pulsing in time with his heart. On Ash Tree Lane it waits for the Lazarus, hidden among Sulphur springs. Only found by those it hunts, door open as a hungry maw. Bitter Moloch rests in the heart of its labyrinth, sharpening his wrath. Virgin blood must be spilled, consumed so that his madness reaches its peak and the house can burn with him. Lazarus, Lazarus, follow the path of your heart.”_

Delphi let out one last, long sigh before she fell quiet in his arms. Cheek pressed to his shoulder, her eyes fluttered shut as blood dripped from her hand to the carpet. Not unconscious, but still recovering from the violence of the prophecy. Adjusting her in his arms, Jason took her bloodied hand in his, wincing when he saw the depth of the wound, her teeth having pierced the skin deep.

“Come on,” he said, voice rough. “We need to get this cleaned and bandaged.”

Giving him a soft noise of assent, she pulled herself from him. His hands almost reached for her, almost pulled her back into him. Just so he could feel her, warm and soft, find comfort he wasn’t allowed in the embrace. But he held himself back. Reminded himself that he couldn’t.

Delphi deserved better. Delphi deserved more.

She was quiet and compliant as he washed her hand in the sink, never twitching or wincing or pulling away as he dabbed the wound with antiseptic and bandaged it. Only once he finished did she speak, pulling her hand from his to press over her heart.

“I didn’t see much while I was speaking,” she murmured. “Just… darkness. Fire. But I can point out where the house is on the map. Navigate us there.”

“Okay,” he said, taking a step back. “I’ll get the map, you can take a look at it and—”

“Not immediately.” Delphi looked back up at him with a small frown. “You still need to get some sleep. I still can’t drive, and you need to take care of yourself.”

Right. The whole point of getting the room was so he could try to catch up on sleep. A glance at his watch showed that it was already late afternoon, the time bleeding away far too quickly. And the way she was looking at him… it was hard to say no to her.

“Fine.” He relented. Far too easily, and not for the first time that day. He bent far too easily to her. “When I wake up, we can get some food and make a game plan. Plot out the best route to take.”

“I’ll try to think on the prophecy as well. If you wouldn’t mind writing down what you remember of it, I’d appreciate it. Sometimes the images can overwhelm the words the more I try to remember.”

With a small nod, Jason let her leave the cramped little bathroom first. While he pulled out the notepad and pen from the bedside drawer and jotted down the prophecy (which had stuck vivid and fresh in his mind, for reasons he could not quite explain), she’d settled down in the lumpy armchair with her demonology book and her new tarot deck resting on the desk next to her. When he finished writing, he handed the notepad off to her. She took it quietly, reading over it with a small frown.

“Sorry,” he said, “I know my handwriting isn’t very good.”

“No.” She shook her head and glanced up at him. “Your handwriting is fine. I’m just… trying to absorb it, I guess.”

“Well, don’t worry yourself over it, okay? We can figure it out together.”

Delphi let out a soft, non-committal sound. Already she was paying more attention to the written prophecy than to him, giving it her unwavering focus. Not wanting to distract her, he pulled off his boots and jacket, resolving to just get a little nap in. However, in the moments between his eyes closing and sleep dragging him into its depths, he heard her soft voice.

“Sleep well, Jason.”

Jason Todd fell asleep with a small smile, hoping for his dreams to be pleasant, just for once.

\---

_A field of white flowers spread endlessly before him, the night sky bright with stars. The moon hung full above his head, lighting up his path as he moved through the field, blooms shifting to avoid being stepped on. A figure lay ahead of him, the white of her dress blending in with the flowers._

_Carnations, he realized, as he continued to slowly make his way towards the girl. Her eyes were closed, dark hair fanned out around her head. In the dream, her skin was not marred by scars. When she opened her eyes and looked up at him, both were hazel, no scars rendering one of them cloudy and blind. She looked younger, hands folded over her stomach as she stared silently up at him._

_“Delphi?” he asked, voice distant, faded._

_“No.” She blinked up at him, expressionless. “My designation number is One-Two-Seven.”_

_Kneeling in the flowers next to her, he looked down at his hands. They were his own, palms calloused and knuckles dusted with scars. The dream version of Delphi took his right hand in her own, still laying among the flowers. Her hands were so small, so soft, her fingers tracing the lines on his palm. But her face remained blank, no emotion bleeding through. Like a pretty doll brought to life, unnervingly beautiful in her perfection._

_“Your heart line is broken in places,” she said, thumb brushing over the top most line. “You’ve gone through much emotional trauma, had your heart broken enough times it’s hard to put all the pieces back together.”_

_At a loss for words, he watched her move to trace the middle line._

_“Your head line has many crosses through it. You’ve had several emotional crises, momentous decisions to make.” Then she let her fingers rest on the bottom most line. “And multiple life lines, extra vitality. A refusal to die.”_

_Finally, her index finger traced the line that started at the base of his palm, resting at the very top as she looked up at him._

_“Your fate line is deep. You’ve been strongly controlled by fate. Will continue to be controlled by it, thrown down a destined path.”_

_Emboldened in his dreamlike state, he entwined his fingers with hers. She did not react, continuing to stare blankly into his eyes._

_“Delphi?” he asked again._

_“I have no name,” she whispered back. Slowly, she sat up, thin fabric of her dress riding up her thighs as she tucked her legs beneath her. “You never should have named me, Jason Todd.”_

_“What?”_

_Breath catching in his chest, he looked up as the light of the moon turned a bleeding red. The carnations withered and changed, unfurling their wilting petals and becoming creeping crimson spider lilies. When he looked back to Delphi, her left eye was bleeding, a gory mess. But she remained expressionless, even as he fell backwards with a yell, her hands falling to rest in her lap. Wounds opened across her skin, her white dress stained with red as she bled. Still, she was motionless. Immovable._

_“Your love will ruin me,” she whispered. As she spoke, blood dripped from her lips, remaining eye refusing to look away from him. “You’ve damned me. I should have remained an unloved tool, a thing to be used and discarded.”_

_“No,” he cried, throwing himself forward and grasping her frail shoulders. Her skin had gone cold, so terribly cold. “Delphi, don’t—”_

_“My blood will be on your hands.” She took his face in her hands, rising up on her knees. “Just like everyone else you’ve loved.”_

_When she kissed him, her blood flooded his mouth, choking him. He tried to push her away, but she was unmovable, cold and hard as stone. With one last sigh against his lips, she crumbled. Before his eyes, as he coughed blood from his lungs, she broke apart and crumbled to dust. No trace of her left but ashen piles in his hands, the lingering taste of copper on his tongue._

_Falling forward, Jason Todd screamed, the sound echoing in the empty space. The red moon watched him, damning. Flowers bloomed in his lungs, choked him, crimson flowers spilling from his lips._

_When he fell further, the light flickered out, and he abandoned himself to the cold, terrible dark._

_\---_

A warm hand brushing over his forehead woke Jason, his hand reflexively sliding under the pillow to find the gun he’d hid there. When his eyes snapped open, he found Delphi staring down at him in alarm, her palm pressed over his forehead and her face close to his own. He immediately relaxed, hand sliding back out as he heaved a relieved sigh.

“Sorry,” she squeaked, pulling away from him with flushed cheeks. “You seemed distressed, so I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No,” he breathed, starting to reach for her before he stopped. “No, you don’t have to be sorry. Just… just a bad dream, that’s all.”

“If you don’t mind my saying,” Delphi said softly, gazing at her hands, “I’ve noticed when you’ve had nightmares before. But you were more… agitated this time. Are… are you okay?”

No. He wasn’t okay. The taste of blood still lingered in his mouth, the grit of ashes under his nails and in the cracks of his palms. Even though she was there, alive and well, the nightmare lingered. How many more times would he be haunted by images of her death? How many times would the motherfuckers from hell hunting him use her against him? He’d tried to hide it. But he wasn’t doing it well enough.

The longer he was around her, the more terrified he was that he would ruin her.

“I’m fine,” he lied. Schnitzel had come up to sit next to her, letting out a soft whine. “Were you able to figure out anything else from the prophecy?”

Although she did not look at all convinced by his words, she dropped it. Resting her hand on Schnitzel’s head to silence him, she let out a soft sigh.

“I mean, a lot of it is pretty straightforward.” Her fingers scratched at the dog’s ears absentmindedly as she spoke. “Moloch is in a house that is somehow connected to him, imprisoning him but also magnifying his power. It’s hidden with some kind of illusion so that only people he wants to find it can see it, and it’s located in sulfurous springs. The… um, the part that bothers me is the consumption of virgin blood.”

“Not exactly something you can buy at a corner store,” Jason snorted, sitting up and stretching. “I’m afraid that I’m long past the point of being a virgin myself. Not sure where we’d get it.”

There was a long, awkward pause. Delphi’s face flushed hotter as she cleared her throat.

“Um,” she said.

Oh. _Oh._ Mortified, Jason stood and held his hands up.

“Shit, uh. I mean…”

“The prophecy seems to be suggesting that I need to let him drink some of my blood,” she said, rushing to fill the silence. “I’m… I’m okay with that, but I’m more concerned about what could happen during the moments before the power drives him mad. Even if it does kill him in the end, he could hurt you.”

“Hold up, that’s not the biggest concern here.” Frowning, he watched her stand and scratch at the bandages on her hand. “How the hell is this thing going to get your blood? You’re still recovering from being _stabbed_ , Delphi. Not to mention you just bit yourself hard enough to bleed. You can’t just accept getting hurt again.”

“Jason.” She finally looked up at him, brow creased with confusion. “I’m only here to help you. If I have to bleed to make sure that you succeed, then that’s okay. It’s what fate has in store for me. I’m here for you to use me as you need.”

“Bullshit.” Stepping forward, he gripped her wrist, ignoring her small sound of surprise. “You’re not just here to bleed. You’re not just here to get hurt. Okay? You’re here because I need you… I need you to guide me on the path. To see things that I can’t see. To make sure that I do this right. You’re not something to be used up and tossed aside. Not ever again. If your job is to guide me, then it’s my job to protect you.”

“Jason—”

“No.” He cut her off, letting go of her wrist so he could clasp her face in his hands instead. “You are not what they made you. You’re not the number that they branded you with. Okay? You are a person. You’re meant for more than just suffering. I can’t…” He had to stop, collect himself. Choose his words carefully. “I don’t want to see you throwing your life away when you’ve only just started living it.”

Delphi just stared at him in shock for a moment. Absorbed his words, her eyes wide. But then she began to cry. Quietly, her teeth latching onto her bottom lip to instinctively keep in her sobs. Hiding her pain. How many times had she been punished simply for showing emotion? How long had she kept her hurt locked away because she wasn’t able to express it? Tears rolled down her cheeks, her eyes squeezing closed. Her fingers curled around his wrists as she cried quietly. Cradling her face, his heart lurched as she leaned into his touch. Seeking out physical comfort, however minimal it was.

“It’s okay to cry,” he whispered. After a pause, he shoved aside his concerns and pressed his forehead to hers. Closed his eyes and listened to her shaking, soft crying. “Let it out. I’m here.”

Collapsing into him, she let out a soft wail. Jason caught her easily, gathered her to his chest as she gripped at his shirt. Her body trembled as he held her, threatening to break apart with each sob, with the violence of her sudden surge of emotion. Pressing his face into her hair, he tried his best to hold her together, to be a grounding force. Even as he fought to keep his own hands from shaking, his heart racing with the anger that pumped through his veins.

Had she ever been hugged before she met him? Had anyone ever told her that it was okay to be sad, angry, frustrated? Or had she always felt that pressure to be a perfect little doll, pretty and broken and suppressing everything that made her human?

After a while, she quieted down, her sobs turning into soft whimpers. Then she finally fell quiet, her breathing evening out. When she pulled away, Jason let her go easily. Wiping at her face with her sleeves, she let out a soft hiccup, refusing to look at him.

“Feel better?” he asked, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep himself from wiping the remaining tears from her cheeks.

“Yeah,” she rasped, voice raw from her crying. She sniffled, finally glancing up at him. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” He grinned, allowing himself to reach forward and ruffle her hair. “You’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to be sad. I’m here to help you through it. Friends, right?”

“Yeah.” When she smiled, he felt his heart skip a beat. It was small, fragile. Delicate. But there was still hope in it. Beautiful, radiant hope. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Want to wash your face?”

With a small nod, Delphi moved around him to the bathroom. Schnitzel followed, sitting in the doorway and standing guard as the sink ran. Heaving a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself. By the time she stepped out, he’d calmed down.

“Let’s get some food,” he said. “Take a break from all of this for a bit. Then we can get back to it. Sound good?”

“Yes.” She paused, then reached out to take his hand. “That sounds good.”

Heart in his throat and head in the sky, Jason let her hold his hand as hey walked to the diner just a few blocks away.

She deserved better, he knew that in his heart. But for those few fleeting moments, he let himself enjoy the comfort of her presence and the warmth of her affection.

\---

Sitting in the back of the truck, tail gate down, Jason watched Delphi run through a field of wildflowers. Schnitzel ran with her, looping around her in circles and answering her delighted laughter with excited barks. While Gotham was cold year-round, except for its viciously hot summers, Texas was different. It was still early spring, but the weather was mild. Comfortable enough that neither of them wore sweaters or jackets anymore, the skirt Delphi wore billowing around her knees as she spun to face him.

It felt like a daydream, sharply in contrast with the darkness they were rapidly approaching. In a matter of hours they would no longer be standing in a field, bathed in sunshine, watching flowers wave in a gentle breeze. He refused to take the small moment for granted, tried to burn it into his memory. Schnitzel came running back to him, tongue lolling out as he sat down, tail wagging rapidly behind him. When Jason reached down to pet him, scratch behind his ears and give soft praise, he took some comfort in the unconditional, animal nature of the dog’s love for him.

“How long until we get there?” Delphi asked, approaching him, her bare feet stained green and breathless from her running.

“Only a few hours,” he told her. “Once we cross the border, I might have to rely on you to navigate me. This place isn’t gonna be on maps.”

After their dinner a couple of days previously, Delphi had been able to pinpoint a general area in Oklahoma where Moloch was waiting. Somewhere in the Arbuckle Mountains, where there were natural sulfur springs. Not in any town, and possibly off paved roads. There was a possibility that they would have to park the truck in a hidden spot and hike to it, which he wasn’t happy with. If they had to run, escape quickly, sprinting out into the night without any reliable form of transportation was a death sentence. Especially if one or both of them were injured.

Reality crept in, dashing his happiness against the rocks and replacing it with a creeping sense of dread. There was no guarantee they would make it out alive. While the prophecy hadn’t mentioned death, that didn’t take it off the table. Especially not for Delphi. If she had to give up her blood to Moloch, her life was forfeit. She’d tried to assure him that it wasn’t her time, that she knew that instinctively, but he couldn’t shake off his concern.

Even if it killed him, he was going to make sure she got out of the shitshow he’d dragged her into alive.

“It’s going to be okay.” Looking back up at her voice, Jason found her smiling up at him, hands open and filled with bright blossoms she’d picked. “I know it, deep in my bones. You’re going to make it out of this stronger than before.”

“Okay.” He reached out, took an Indian paintbrush and forced a smile. “I trust you.”

“Good.” Closing her hands, she climbed back in the truck with Schnitzel, leaning out the open window. “Let’s go!”

Still unable to get rid of the unease churning his guts, he climbed back in the truck and got them back on the road. Delphi had placed the wildflowers she picked in her bag, reading one of the books she’d picked up at an exchange the day before. Schnitzel fell asleep with his head in her lap, a sense of peace descending in the truck. Pop songs played softly on the radio, a careful choice he’d made in an attempt to avoid another incident. They both hummed along to some of the songs, his fingers drumming against the wheel as they crossed into Oklahoma.

Pulling into a gas station to fill the tank and take a break, he left Delphi in the truck with Schnitzel to pay for gas with cash and buy a few bottles of water and snacks. When he returned she was staring out the windshield, brow furrowed. With the passenger window down, he was able to pass her the snacks and water, folding his arms on the edge.

“Already getting a feeling?” he asked.

“Yes.” Letting her attention turn away from the mountains in the distance, she opened one of the water bottles, taking a small sip. “It’s different than the others. Stronger. He’s still a good distance away, but… I can feel him.” She turned to him, clutching the plastic bottle tightly. “Can you feel it, too?”

Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the little seed of unease he’d felt before. Let everything else fall away as he tried to let the foreign thing inside of him, the one that always seemed to know when danger was around, take over. After a moment, he felt it. Something off, a shift in the air. A presence, though still far away, that made his skin prickle. Opening his eyes, he rubbed at his jaw, tense now that the demon’s presence seemed to bear down on him.

“I feel it,” he muttered, eyes narrowed as he glanced towards the mountains. “It’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?”

“Much worse, I think.” Rubbing at her scarred arms, she winced. “We’ll need to be much more careful than before.”

“You’ve still got the cipher key I gave you?”

A small nod. Before they’d left, they’d agreed to use a Cesar cipher if they were split up, using whatever they could to leave messages for each other. Without the key, they’d (hopefully) just be nonsense to Moloch. He also wore Samael’s feather around his neck, tucked under his shirt and warm against his chest. Delphi wore the remaining feathers, two woven into her braid and another tucked under her own shirt and hanging around her neck on red string. There was no guarantee that they would be effective, but it was better than no protection at all.

Jason dropped the topic for the moment, filling the truck with gas and washing his hands in the tiny, filthy little bathroom before he finally got back in the cab. Both of them were silent, the engine idling as he took a moment to breathe, center himself, prepare for the hell that they were walking into. Schnitzel was still asleep, but he could feel the nervous tension radiating off Delphi next to him. As calm as she’d been acting so far, it was clear that she was as scared as he was, if not more.

Pulling out onto the highway felt like an enormous step in an unknown direction, the crawling, creeping feeling of dread only getting worse the closer they got to the Arbuckles. Silence stretched, broken only by the crackling static of the radio. Finally Delphi broke it, leaning forward in her seat and staring at one of the peaks rising just before them.

“Take the next exit,” she whispered.

Obeying, he remained quiet as she directed him off the main road and down a gravel street. The trees got thicker the further they drove, closing in around them, shadows replacing the bright late afternoon sun. Then he saw the sign, beaten and worn but clear as day.

Ash Tree Lane. Before she could direct him to turn, he was doing it himself. Twin streams ran along the private drive, the scent of sulfur heavy in the air. Squirming in her seat, Delphi seemed to wilt as a house came into view before them. An old house, plantation style, with a covered porch and peeling blue paint. If it weren’t for the sudden wave of fear that punched him in the gut, he would have waved it off as any other house hidden away in the woods. But there was a pressure that it exerted. A physical thing that squeezed the air from his lungs and made his teeth ache.

“He’s there,” she whispered. “He’s so angry…”

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, parking the truck in a copse of weeping willows and turning to face her. “You look like you’re in pain.”

Nails digging into the soft skin of her upper arm, she gave him a small, unconvincing nod.

“I’m fine.” Her voice was weak, a shiver running visibly through her as she watched the house through the foliage. “It’s just… it’s a lot. You can feel it too, but… I don’t know.”

“You feel it more than I do.” He sighed, petting Schnitzel when the dog let out a soft whine. “I mean, I’m uncomfortable, too. It’s like… like something crawling under my skin. But nothing more than an itch.”

“Don’t let it get any stronger than that.” She took a deep breath, finally turning to face him once more. “Ground yourself in your anger. I don’t… I can’t guarantee that whatever it is I’m feeling won’t start having a greater effect on me.”

“If it does, get out.”

“Jason, I can’t just leave you in there by yourself.”

“I’m more than capable of facing Moloch by myself. I’ve been in worse situations than this and gotten out alive.”

“But the prophecy—”

“Fuck the prophecy,” Jason said with a bit more heat than he’d meant to. “I know that you’ve been fed a line about destiny being immutable and all of your visions being inevitable. But we can find another way around this if we need to. The future doesn’t have to be set in stone.”

Although she didn’t argue, Delphi also was, yet again, clearly not convinced by his words. With nothing else left to say, they both climbed out of the truck, gathering their bags. Jason tucked his Sig Sauer into the back of his waistband, double checking to make sure he still had several knives on him. Schnitzel whined, slinking to hide behind Delphi as they both began to approach the house. The closer they got, the more uncomfortable he acted, stopping a few feet away from the porch and growling. Glancing between the dog and the house, Delphi frowned.

“Is it… safe to bring him inside?” she asked. “Will he even go in?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. Kneeling, he fished a treat out of his backpack, offering it to Schnitzel. When the dog only growled louder, lips peeling back from his teeth and ears flat against his skull, he sighed. “I don’t think he’s going to come in. I don’t want to force him to, either. It’d be useful, but…”

“I don’t want him to get hurt.” Sighing, she knelt next to him in the tall grass. “Will he stay with the truck, if you ask him to?”

“Probably. The only problem is we have no idea how long we’re gonna be in there for. I can leave extra food and water out for him, tie his leash to a tree, but if we don’t come out for days, he could be out here without food or water.”

“I would offer to stay here with him, but we both need to go inside.”

“We’ll just have to make sure that we get out fast.” Pulling out the collapsible dishes in his bag, he filled both to the brim with food and water, fishing out an extra bowl to fill with more water. “That should be enough for 24 hours. I feel bad just leaving him out here by himself, though.”

“No one else will come,” she said, watching as he hooked a long lead to Schnitzel’s harness and tied it to the closest trunk to the truck. “If it gets cold, he can get in the truck for a bit more heat if you leave a window open for him to jump through. But it’s been so nice, I think he’ll be fine overnight.”

“Still feel like a bad owner for this.” Jason set out all of the bowls, as well as a few toys and some treats. With Schnitzel already acting calmer, he ran his fingers through the dog’s thick fur. “… Twelve hours. That’s all we’ve got. If we can’t find him before then, we leave, take care of Schnitzel, and regroup before we go back inside.”

“Okay. There is a chance that time will pass different in there. But if we set a physical alarm, on something other than our phones…”

“It might help. Less chance of physical mechanisms being tampered with than digital ones.” He grinned. “Good thinking. My watch is analog. I’ll make a note of the time when we go in, keep an eye on it so we get out in time.”

“If it looks like it’s being tampered with, then you leave. Make sure time isn’t passing faster outside so that you can take care of Schnitzel.” She had turned back to face the house, brow furrowed. “I can stay inside and make sure to keep an eye on what is happening there.”

“Delphi—”

“No.” Her voice was sharp, taking him by surprise. “I’m not backing down this time. You can’t keep trying to keep me from helping you in real, meaningful ways, Jason. I’m going to help. And you won’t stop me.”

Realistically, he could easily stop her. He was bigger than her, stronger than her, could easily throw her over his shoulder and haul her out of there. But he also knew, bone deep, that he never would. Even if it pissed him off, he wouldn’t force something on her that went against what she wanted.

Damn. He really was getting soft, bending so easily to the will of a girl who likely only weighed 120 pounds soaking wet with stones in her pockets.

“We’ll get in and out in time,” he growled, standing and slinging his backpack on again. “Make sure that isn’t an option we have to fall back on.”

Giving him a small nod, Delphi let him lead her back towards the house. They both paused on the porch, staring at the door in front of them. Once they crossed that threshold, they were entering the demon’s lair. A place where he would always have the advantage. He took a deep breath, set his hand on the knob.

And then Jason Todd stepped willingly into Hell.

The shift was immediate. Once he entered the house, the presence that he’d felt became almost overwhelming. Dull pain pulsed in his temples, the dark entrance hall impossible. Even though it was still light outside, none of it spilled through the windows. Only a single flickering lamp lit the way, illuminating walls with dark, peeling wallpaper and rotting paintings. Putting one foot in front of the other, he began to make his way through the hall, deeper into the bowels of the building. The door shut behind him, Delphi’s soft footsteps echoing just after his own. When he glanced back, he found her trembling as she walked, eyes flicking from one wall to another. Fear cast shadows on her face, her arms wrapped protectively around herself.

“This place doesn’t want us here,” she whispered. “It hates us.”

“Can’t say I blame it.” He kept his voice low, slowing down so that she could catch up, her fingers clutching at the hem of his shirt. “We are here to kill its master, after all.”

“I know.” Her grip got tighter, gaze drifting back over to him. “But it just… it feels like it’s screaming that. Can you not hear it? Feel it?”

“Not really,” he admitted. More than anything, he felt the angry presence of Moloch, hidden deep in the belly of the beast. “I mean, it doesn’t feel right. But I’m not feeling anything specific.”

Delphi fell quiet, walking close by him as they made their way down the hall. Lights flickered to life to guide their path. Dim things, barely illuminating the cavernous space. But better than nothing. Better than giving up one of his hands to hold a flashlight. Jason didn’t pull his gun. Not yet. Although the place was wrong and dangerous, it didn’t seem to be posing a real threat to them. At least, not yet. After a few minutes of walking (he’d checked his watch to make sure of the time and to make sure it was still working), the hall spat them out into a living space.

Dusty and dark, the chairs and couches were covered with yellowed covers. Cobwebs hung in the corners, just as abandoned and haunted as the house around them. Delphi let go of his shirt to approach a large painting in the middle of the space, its gilded frame tarnished and scuffed. She stared at it for a long moment before speaking.

“This is Moloch.”

Slowly, Jason came to stand beside her. The portrait was of a naked man with the head of a bull, his strangely proportioned body slick with blood. Fires raged in the background, cities and civilizations crumbling in the distance. In each of his four hands, he held a dead child, their bodies twisted and brutalized, mouths opened in silent screams. It was a horrific image, capturing a terrible god in all of his merciless glory. The eyes were ablaze, seemed too lifelike to be part of a painting. It felt like it was watching him, judging him as he stood before it.

“He’s watching us, isn’t he?” Jason asked softly.

“Yes.” Delphi continued to stare up into the painted god’s eyes, voice shaking with fear. “He’s waiting for us to come to his labyrinth.”

“Already making it personal before I even meet him.” He snorted, turning away from the unsettling painting. “Stole this whole schtick from a book.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, tearing her eyes away to glance up at him.

“The House on Ash Tree Lane. The minotaur. The labyrinth. The house that seems alive, that hates the people who walk into it,” he listed off. “It’s from House of Leaves. One of my favorite books. I read it just a couple of months before I died.”

“That seems… excessive.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “Pissed off demons and gods are apparently all about the drama.”

What he did not vocalize was that the parallel disturbed him deeply. Had his death been planned to the extent that a Canaanite god was able to know what his favorite book was at the time? How unnatural was his own resurrection that that same god would imprison and isolate himself to some remote abandoned house in Oklahoma, of all places, to plan his revenge?

Because there was no doubt about it. While the others may simply have been doing their jobs, this was revenge. Personal, highly planned, detailed revenge. Hatred fed slowly over the years, waiting for the chance to unleash itself in all its hellish glory. Delphi had wandered away from the painting, pulling out her own flashlight to give the room a bit more light, illuminate the shadows that the flickering lamps had tried to hide away. She reached out, rested a hand on the wall, and then immediately pulled it back away with a shriek of horror. Disturbed, she turned to him, shaking and pale.

“The walls are breathing,” she whispered. “I could feel it. They’re _breathing_.”

A living hateful thing, each doorway another mouth to swallow them, each hallway another artery pumping them closer and closer to the heart of it all. Letting her lead the way with her flashlight, they plunged deeper into the abyss. He kept close, tried his best to be a solid presence despite how small and insignificant the house made him feel. Like a scared kid all over again, unable to stop his inevitable doom.

What parts of him that he’d tried so hard to hide from her would be dragged out in this monstrous place?

“How much time has passed?” she asked him softly, still soldiering forward.

He glanced down at his watch, resting a hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“Less than an hour.”

“I feel like we’re getting closer.” The light glanced off the walls, the hallway widening the further they walked. “I don’t know if it’s closer to Moloch or to something else. But… we’re getting closer to something significant.”

“How close?” he asked.

The house answered him. Shadows flickered and shifted, the building creaking and groaning around them. Before their eyes, what had been an endless stretch of bland hallway became an arched entrance. Even with the flashlight shining directly into it, only shadows waited for them past the threshold.

“Very close,” Delphi murmured.

She lifted his hand from her shoulder, entwined her fingers with his, and stepped into the dark.

The sudden light was almost blinding. Delphi cringed back into him, dropping her flashlight. Jason reflexively wrapped an arm around her, careful not to apply pressure to the stitches in her stomach.

They had emerged into what appeared to be a kitchen, brightly lit and with sunshine streaming through the wide, open windows. Still clutching Delphi to him, Jason quickly glanced around the space. It was retro in appearance, sparkling clean in contrast to the rot and decay of what they’d seen of the house so far. But there was something rotten. A smell that made his stomach churn, made Delphi gag as she rubbed at her eyes. There was a small, circular table in the middle of the space with four chairs, a basket sitting in the middle. Moving closer, he glanced inside of it.

Rotting fruit sat in the otherwise clean basket, none of the leaking, putrid juices escaping it to flow onto the table. Delphi broke away to run to the chrome sink, vomiting into it as he fought back his own wave of nausea. As she coughed and gagged, gripping the sink with a white-knuckle grip, he moved to the fridge. When he opened it, he froze.

What seemed to be an endless tunnel of gore stared back at him, the only part of it that resembled a normal fridge being the inside of the door. The rotten smell swelled, bile rising at the back of his throat before he slammed it shut. There had been twisting, rotten intestines, congealing flesh, so many hearts that he hadn’t been able to count. All of them so terribly, horribly small.

“What’s in there?” Delphi rasped, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Nothing.” He lied.

She reached for the tap, likely to wash away the vomit in the sink and to rinse out her own mouth. But instead of water, dark, steaming blood rushed out. Screaming, she stumbled back, losing her balance and crashing to the ground. With unstoppable force, the blood filled the sink and quickly began to spill over, pooling on the floor as she tried to scramble away. Ignoring the blood that splashed up on his boots and jeans, Jason rushed forward, turning off the tap. It continued to leak, a soft, steady drip of blood. Backing away, he helped Delphi to her feet, letting her lean against him for a moment as she got her bearings.

“I hate this place,” she whispered.

Jason was unable to stop the laughter that bubbled from him, although he knew it was inappropriate. But it seemed absurd. Breathing walls, shifting, endless architecture, rotting fruit and a tunnel of meat and bleeding sinks, and all she could manage was a soft hate. Letting his laughter trail off into an awkward cough, he let her go when she pulled away. She didn’t look offended, thankfully. Just confused.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know that wasn’t funny. I just… god, this whole thing is so fucking stupid. You know? So what, I got another chance to live? Does that really mean that I have to come to living houses and wade through blood sinks? It’s stupid. It’s so stupid.”

“It is stupid,” she agreed. “But these people… these beings, they don’t use human logic. I guess I’m just… I’m not adjusting to it well.”

“That’s good. Don’t adjust to it. Don’t let it desensitize you.”

They both stood, blood washing over their shoes, and simply… absorbed the moment. Let the situation really sink in. A house that wasn’t a house, a prison that wasn’t a prison. An extension of Moloch, of his anger and hatred. Handing Delphi a water bottle, he let her wash out her mouth, spitting onto the floor with a visible wince, before they headed through the next open door. The only open door, the way they’d come in firmly sealed.

Even though she had retrieved her flashlight, there was no need for it. The next room that they entered was also well lit, another living area with open windows, curtains billowing. Too clean, too well groomed. The upholstery on the couches was leather, but he didn’t dare approach them. Neither did Delphi. Instinctively, they both knew what they would find. Instead, they approached another large painting. This one depicted Moloch, without a doubt. But there was no bull’s head, no fires or carnage. He wore a fine black suit, the human face he’d slipped on eerily beautiful. White hair, dark skin, black eyes. The smile the painting wore seemed to grow the longer he looked at it.

Still watching. Always watching.

The seemingly welcoming atmosphere of the room was more unsettling than the darkness before. A thin veneer painted over hatred. The darkness slowly bleeding through the cracks. Still a threat. Delphi’s shaking was getting worse, her hands clutching at her head as she let out a soft, pained groan.

“What’s wrong? You okay?” he asked.

“My head hurts.” Eyes squeezed shut, she caved in on herself. “Hurts so bad.”

Uncertain what to do, Jason watched. Watched as she slowly crumbled to her knees, breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“I can hear him,” she cried, nails digging into her scalp. “He keeps whispering to me. And it just gets louder and louder, I can’t—”

“Drown it out.” Driven by something unspoken and raw, Jason fell to his knees next to her. Pulled her hands away from her head, gripped her wrists as hard as he could without hurting her. “Drown him out.”

“I can’t—”

“Think of all those annoying pop songs we sang along to earlier,” he interrupted. “Remember that one that made you laugh? The one that was just ‘yummy’ over and over again? Play it in your head. As loud as you can.”

Whimpering, she leaned towards him. He kept her up, watched as her breathing started to slow. Her lips moved silently in time with the lyrics. A shit song, he knew, but it was the first one that had come to mind. An earworm, one that burrowed itself deep in the mind. Time passed slowly as he watched her. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally looked up at him. Her eyes were bloodshot, but clear. Focused.

“I really hate that song, too.”

Both of them laughed, Jason letting go of her wrists. They stood and she wiped a trickle of blood from her nose.

“You know, there’s something kind of amazing about using a shitty pop song to force a god out of your mind,” he said, trying to keep the mood up.

“If I hum it to keep him out, you aren’t allowed to complain,” she replied.

A joke. It took him by surprise. She was learning. He grinned, ruffling her hair.

“I won’t complain until we’ve gotten out of here.”

A door opened behind him. Slowly, he turned to see it yawning open, darkness beckoning them forward once more.

“I’ll lead again,” Delphi said.

Her tone made it clear that there was no room to argue. Wordlessly, he followed her through the door. The light in this corridor was a vivid red, flickering once more. As they walked, the door at the end grew further and further away. But she soldiered on, humming that godawful song as she did. The creaking of the walls grew louder, angry with her rejection.

She did not care. She did not flinch away as it grew to a roar, the walls and ceiling shifting around them. Her determination only grew, an anger he had never seen before blazing in her good eye. The house began to shake, as if reacting to an earthquake. Jason’s footing slipped and he braced himself against a wall, blanching as the wallpaper peeled away and the foundation underneath began to bleed. The roar turned into an unrelenting pulse, a furious heartbeat.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. He blinked and the light had faded to a softer pink, the door standing right in front of them.

Without hesitation, Delphi reached forward and opened it.

A staircase waited for them, descending into a pitch black void. Pulling her back gently, Jason stepped forward and turned on his flashlight. If she had led last time, he would lead next. Something in him whispered that Moloch waited at the end of the steps. His own personal demon, the god his sacrifice had been meant to feed.

The god who Delphi would have to feed her blood to.

That reality set in on him, but also seemed to deflate the momentary anger that she’d had. Before he could head down the steps, she grasped at the back of his shirt.

“He’s down there,” she warned.

“I know,” he said. “I can feel it, too.”

They both turned to stare down into that darkness. Hope seemed to shrivel in the face of it, burned out by the malevolent force that called to him.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” he whispered.

With her fingers still clutching at his shirt, Jason pulled out his flashlight, turned it on, and began the descent. The wooden steps creaked under their weight, adding to the chorus of groans that the house made around them. With each step, the air seemed to get hotter. Soon it was uncomfortably warm, sweat beading on his face and sliding down his spine. Delphi’s breathing got heavier behind him, and when he glanced back, he saw that her skin was slick with sweat. The smell of burning wood and flesh rose to greet them, small tendrils of smoke floating in the air.

They reached the end of the stairs and Jason paused. One more step, and there would be no running. Not until either he or Moloch were dead. He glanced at his watch. Although it did not feel like it, four hours had already passed, time stretching and bending to the will of the house. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, Jason wiped sweat from his face and turned to Delphi.

She was mopping at her own face with the bottom of her shirt, belly exposed as she did so. He could see the stitches and her healing stab wound, other long stretches of scars over her hips and ribs. Before he could look away, ashamed at how blatantly he’d stared, she let her shirt fall back into place. If she’d noticed or felt his gaze, she did not let it show. Instead, she pulled the feather around her neck out from under her shirt and clutched it tightly in her bandaged hand.

“It’s time,” she told him.

With a small nod, he pulled his pistol, flicked off the safety, and slowly moved forward. Keeping the flashlight next to the barrel, he tried to make sense of the darkness around him. The light could not penetrate it, only illuminating a few steps in front of him. Delphi had hooked her fingers through one of the belt loops in his jeans, an anchor to keep them from being separated. The ground was soft, squishy beneath his feet, making wet sounds with each step he took. He didn’t want to look down. Didn’t want to see what it was made of.

The rot he smelled was enough confirmation.

“You’ve made it through the labyrinth,” a deep voice said, echoing around them. Like the low rumble of war drums, full of hatred. “Little oracle, it seems that I’ve underestimated you.”

Delphi did not respond. She only pressed closer to him, breathing shallow as they paused in the shadows.

“And you, Lazarus. Your bravery and pride are matched only by your stupidity. Did you truly think you could simply walk into my prison and kill me?”

Jason did not respond, either. Only kept his gun steady, eyes narrowed as he tried to see through the darkness, locate Moloch. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that he could just shoot the god in the head and finish him off so easily. It would take more than that.

It would take blood and pain and rage and fire.

“Perhaps you need a little light. I suppose lesser beings do prefer having a face to speak to.”

Flames appeared in the distance, flickering to life one by one until the space was finally lit. The basement was dark, lined with brass braziers and the walls painted with depictions of the god in blood. Slowly walking forward, Jason could see Moloch, sitting on a throne of bones. The god’s skin was slick with sweat, his eyes the same flickering orange and amber as the flames that surrounded him. He wore only jeans, filthy with blood and dust and grime, holes in the knees. His platinum hair was slicked back, long fingers tipped with black nails that scraped over bleached bone.

When he smiled, it seemed more like a sneer, a mockery of human expression.

“Moloch.” Delphi stepped out from behind Jason, her expression guarded. “Why all of this for one man?”

“I was denied my rightful sacrifice.” The god stood up, approaching her. He towered over her, tracing the line of her jaw with a long, filthy nail. “While I was able to build this home on the bones and blood of other children killed in your pitiful human conflicts, I would not forget what was ripped from me. What another god denied me.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asked, keeping his pistol trained on the god. “It wasn’t some god that brought me back from the dead.”

“Ah, I forgot how stupid you were.” Moloch sighed, lowering his hand and turning his burning gaze on Jason. “Did you truly think that it was the Pit that brought you back? Foolish. It does not have that much power. The Pit only brought back your mind, imbued you with power that you had no idea of until it was forcibly awakened in you. No, it was the Blind Idiot God who brought you back. Shifted in his endless sleep and changed reality. Ripped it open and undid your death.”

“What…?”

Lowering his gun, he tried to absorb that information. When Talia had found him wandering the streets in the rain, dirt and blood on his hands and unresponsive, she had made it out to be a miracle. A conscious decision by the universe to bring back a child wrongfully killed. Balancing out the cruelty of his death by giving him another chance. If some Blind Idiot God had not shifted in his sleep and caused a ripple effect in the universe, he would have stayed dead. He would have continued to rot in his grave, been nothing but bone all these years later. Dead and forgotten, mourned and moved past. Never avenged. Never a reminder of the mistakes that Bruce Wayne had made.

“It was a fluke,” Moloch continued. “Anyone else could have been brought back. Your mother. Your father. Your stepmother. The many children killed on the streets of the decrepit, filthy city that you call home. The parents that your adoptive father had lost so many years ago. But you came back instead. A mistake. A waste of all that infinite power. Ripped from my grasp and weakening me. And for what? What have you done to justify this gift that was bestowed upon you? A second chance at life and the power of the Lazarus Pit, and you’ve squandered it on your own childish vengeance.”

“Stop.” Delphi stepped in front of him, voice muffled as he tried to process this new reality. “Stop it.”

“Oh, and don’t get me started on you, 127.” Moloch’s voice was full of cruel glee as he turned his attention to her. “Look at you, pretending to be a person. Pretending that you’re full of divinity when you know, deep down, that you are no better than myself and my brethren. Have you ever thought of all the children you left behind? All those innocent lives sacrificed so that you could get your own freedom. The cost was not your eye. It was dozens upon dozens of innocents. A sacrifice so similar to the ones that I receive, don’t you think?”

“That’s not true,” she whispered. “I… there was just no way for me to save them—”

“And what of that storm that rages inside of you?” He interrupted her, the flames swelling with his own anger. “What about the voice that keeps calling to you, asking you to find them? The dreams you have of shadows made flesh and sly foxes feasting on your heart? You keep them from your precious Lazarus because you are afraid of what he would think if he saw your true nature.”

It was Delphi’s small noise of distress, the way she shrank back and away from him that snapped Jason out of his daze. The heartbreak and fear on her face, the way she turned away from him. Ashamed. Afraid. Rage swelled in him, hot and angry.

Fuck Moloch. Fuck whatever god had brought him back. Fuck his own fears, the flaws that he tried to hide away.

_Fuck destiny._

Shoving Delphi behind him, Jason raised the Sig Sauer and fired a round right between Moloch’s hateful eyes. The god’s head snapped back, gore splattering the ground behind him. But he did not stumble. He did not fall. Instead, he remained motionless, brain matter and blood leaking from the back of his skull. Then, slowly, he straightened back up. Any semblance of humanity had left him, eyes blazing as he stared Jason down. The pinprick hole in his forehead sealed itself, terrible crunching noises echoing in the quiet space as his skull pieced itself back together.

Horns emerged from his forehead with the crack of bone, twisting into four demented versions of bull’s horns, his jaw distending from the rows of fangs that grew there. Jason kept his aim steady, shoving down the cold trickle of fear that had begun to run through his veins. This, he knew, was not the worst he would face.

But that bravado shriveled when he felt a cold grip on his mind. His own body began to betray him, arms shaking as he tried to fight back. It was no use. Sweat beading on his forehead, he watched in horror as he brought his pistol to his temple. His muscles screamed in pain, bones aching as they were turned against him. His finger curled around the trigger, eyes wide as Moloch watched him with alien malice.

“You never had a chance,” Moloch snarled, voice a garbled, terrible thing. “I’m done playing. I will take my sacrifice now.”

“Stop!” Delphi screamed. “Stop, please. Killing him is useless. It won’t give you the power that you lost.”

There was a pause. Moloch turned his burning gaze on her, so small next to Jason. Slowly, his finger loosened on the trigger. He let out a shaking breath, afraid to relax. That cold grip still kept him in its control, refusing to let go. At any second, if Moloch chose to, he could make Jason blow his own brains out without batting an eye.

His fate rested, once more, in Delphi’s hands.

“Explain,” Moloch growled.

“He’s no longer a child,” she said, voice shaking as she stepped forward. “Sacrifices are only useful to you if they’re of pure blood. From a child or a virgin. Jason is neither. It would only bring petty satisfaction to you, and I suspect it would be fleeting, as you would still be trapped here in your own prison. But I can give you what you really want.”

“Oh?” Moloch tilted his head as he regarded her. “And what is that?”

“Virgin blood as a sacrifice.” Her hands shook as she raised them, pressed them over her heart. “Not only that, but willing virgin blood of an Elioud. That… that has more power than he could ever give you.”

Jason wanted to scream, to step in. He knew the prophecy, knew she had some kind of plan in mind, but couldn’t bear to see her hurt again. Couldn’t bear to stitch her back up like a stuffed animal that had been ripped apart by a careless child. But his jaw was locked shut, muscles tense as Moloch tightened his grip.

The god and the girl stared at each other, unmoving. No room for compromise on either side.

“You would give your life for this man?” Moloch finally asked. “A murderer, a criminal?”

“I would,” she said, voice soft but firm. “I would give my life for him a dozen times over.”

“Ah, you sweet, foolish thing.” He sighed, shaking his head. “So willing to throw your life away after the smallest affection. But I will not turn away your sacrifice. What do you ask for in exchange?”

“Let Jason leave. If you swear to me that you will let him leave this place alive and unharmed, I will give myself to you.”

Looking amused, Moloch waved a hand and the cold grip that had held Jason in place disappeared. Stumbling, he tucked his gun away and stared at Delphi in horror. The smile she gave him was not apologetic, a glint in her eye. She had a plan, of course, but he could not help the pit in his stomach, the pain in his chest. Stepping away from him, she approached the god. He took her wrist roughly, holding it up so that he could inhale deeply, flames flickering behind him. Baring his rows of teeth in a vicious smile, his grip tightened on her.

“Such a sweet smell,” he growled. “It’s been centuries since I’ve had a sacrifice like yours. Witches, little things with magic in their blood raised to be slaughtered in my name. Yes, I believe that your life is an adequate exchange for the Lazarus.”

Powerless, all that Jason could do was watch as Moloch dug one of his thick nails into the tender flesh of her right wrist, slashing it open. The wound was long and deep, blood immediately beginning to well. Delphi sank her teeth into her lip to keep a vision from spilling out, eyes rolling back and body going limp. Moloch caught her, jaw unhinging as he clamped his mouth over the wound and began to drink.

He should have pulled her away, should have shot the foul god over and over until he had no head left to regenerate. But he remembered the glint in Delphi’s eyes. As painful as it was to watch the life drain from her, the blood that spilled past Moloch’s lips, he trusted her. Moloch’s eyes met his, a vicious glee in them as he drank his fill. Lifting his head, he let her body crumple to the ground, blood still lazily pumping from the wound on her wrist.

Ignoring the god, Jason rushed to her, slinging off his backpack and pulling out a shirt to wrap tightly around the wound. Delphi was still conscious but weak, pressing the bleeding limb to her chest and staring at Moloch.

“Unfortunately, 127, you should never trust a god simply by his word,” Moloch said, lips and chin slick with her blood. There was a manic edge to his smile, fires blazing with renewed vigor. “Only a small amount of that blood was what I needed, and I’m afraid that I can’t allow either of you to leave.”

“I thought you would say that.” Delphi smiled, letting Jason help her to her feet. “The only problem is that my blood isn’t just blood.”

Confusion flickered over Moloch’s face. The smell of ozone drifted from Delphi as she held her right hand palm up. Light flickered just under the skin, branching clear along the lines of her Lichtenberg scars. Blood that had once been dark red now turned silver blue, liquid lightning dripping from the tips of her fingers. Jason realized what she had done, chest swelling with pride.

Delphi curled her fingers into a fist and Moloch’s belly exploded, lightning branching from his guts and bathing the room in a blinding flash of light. When his eyes had recovered, still blinking dark spots from his vision, Moloch was on his knees, staring at Delphi in a mix of horror and confusion. The hole in his stomach was still smoldering, smell of charred flesh joining ozone. A trickle of blood ran from Delphi’s nose, the light fading from her scars.

“You…” Moloch rasped, blood gushing past his lips.

“Like you said, I have a storm inside of me,” she said. Swayed on her feet, but shook her head when Jason tried to support her. “I know that you won’t stay dead, Moloch. None of you will. But when you begin your next cycle, remember this. That it was your own greed and hatred that brought about your downfall.”

Moloch opened his mouth, tried to speak, but only succeeded in vomiting more blood. The wound was not healing the way the gunshot wound had. Instead, the flesh continued to burn, his fingers clutching at the ruined guts that spilled from him.

Turning to Jason, Delphi took a deep breath.

“Put a knife in his heart,” she whispered. “It’s what I saw. It will kill him while this place dies and burns itself to nothing but ash.”

Jason gave a small nod, making sure that she could remain standing on her own before he pulled a knife from his boot. He’d washed the dried blood from it, not wanting it to rust, but he didn’t think that mattered much. Not when that same blood was rotting the god from the inside out. Planting a boot on Moloch’s shoulder, he kicked the god onto his back. He took a moment to simply look down at the being writhing in pain on the ground, madness in his eyes as the fires spread in the basement, uncontained.

“You deserved worse,” Jason snarled as he leaned down, wielding the blade. “You deserved to feel the pain of every child sacrificed in your name. But I can settle for this.”

No other words needed to be said. They would have fallen on deaf ears anyways, drowned out by madness and pain. Jason drove the knife into Moloch’s heart and watched the life leave the god’s eyes. Only once the body had stopped twitching did he stand straight once more. Delphi had retreated to the staircase, flames closing in around them.

“We need to go,” she managed to shout over the roar of the blaze. “Now!”

She did not need to tell him twice. Adjusting his backpack to make sure that it was secure and confirming with a quick glance that she had her own bag before he rushed over. Ignoring her yelp of protest, he hauled her over his shoulder and took the steps two at a time. The house was screaming around them, walls pulsing in agony as the flames licked at his heels. Without its master it was dying, walls bleeding and lights flickering and dying. The halls were shorter, the rooms smaller as he retraced their steps.

The house could have kept them from leaving. It could have prevented their escape. But in its agony, it spit them out into the night. Breathing heavily as he stumbled off the balcony and away from the house, Jason glanced back. Glass exploded from the windows as the flames licked at the guts of the building, consuming it from the inside out. Delphi was quiet, one arm braced on his back to prop herself up enough to watch the demon’s den burn.

“We need to get that wound treated,” he said, retreating to the truck and setting her down to sit on the cab. Schnitzel yelped and whined, straining at his lead as he tried to get at her. “Stay there.”

Delphi did not say anything. She just watched the flames from behind the dripping foliage of the tree. Unclipping the dog so that he would stop crying, Jason slung his bag into the back of the truck and dug through it, pulling out his emergency first aid kit. When he returned to her, Delphi was letting Schnitzel lick at her fingers with a weak smile. Setting the kit down next to her, Jason unwound the bloody shirt from her wrist and got to work.

Neither of them spoke as he disinfected the wound, wiped blood that had once again become red from her skin. As he stitched her up, she finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“You’ve really gotta learn to stop apologizing,” he replied. “Especially when I don’t know what you’re sorry for.”

“I didn’t explain my plan to you.” She winced as he started the next stitch, had to take a moment to breathe before she continued. “Or what I saw. The solution to the problem. You looked so angry.”

“I wasn’t angry at you. Not really.” Jason sighed, frowning as he tried to focus on the stitches instead of her unwavering gaze, the warmth of her skin under his fingers. “I was angry at the situation. Angry that I couldn’t keep you from getting hurt. Again.”

“I appreciate you trying to protect me.” Her voice was soft. He didn’t dare look up for fear that his heart would be bleeding and on display for her. “But I made that choice myself. I wanted to do that for you. I wanted to save you, for once, instead of you saving me.”

Finishing off the last stitch, Jason set aside the needle and thread. Took a deep breath. Hoped that she couldn’t notice the way his fingers shook as he wrapped her wrist in bandages and taped them off. When he was finished, he let himself be selfish. Held her bandaged wrist in his hands and felt her pulse beneath his fingertips. Injured but alive. All he could have asked of her.

“I’ve done a lot of bad things, in my second life,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Hurt a lot of people. People that I loved. People who loved me. I don’t want you to put your life on the line for someone like me.”

“I don’t care about who you were, or what you’ve done.” Delphi rested her hand on his cheek, urged him to look up at her. “I care about who you are now. And I would do it all over again. You have a good heart, Jason.”

He wanted to kiss her. A wild, sudden desire that rose unbidden. It was a struggle not to act on it, not to take her face in his hands and kiss her breathless. Pull her closer, shelter her in his arms. Keep her safe from the world that continued to cause her so much pain.

Instead, he gave her a pained smile.

“I appreciate the sentiment.” He pulled away from her, already feeling cold without her touch. He couldn’t look at her, for fear he’d lose what remained of his control. “But I have a long way to go before whatever remains of my heart could be considered good.”

Schnitzel whined as he walked away, moved to climb into the truck bed and calm down. Delphi did not move to follow him, staying where she was sitting on the cab to watch the house burn. The dog hopped up with him, licking at his face and pressing up against him. Bless him, the poor thing had always been a little too good at sensing when Jason was distressed. Wrapping an arm around Schnitzel, he buried his fingers in the dog’s warm fur, closing his eyes. Night had fallen, well past midnight and approaching the witching hour. But that sinister presence had disappeared, replace by an eerily feeling of emptiness. A void where something was supposed to be, taken out of the world.

As the fire raged on, Delphi’s soft voice echoed in the night air, trembling and fragile. He didn’t know who she sang the dirge for, whether it was for Moloch, for him, or for her. Maybe it was even for the house. But he listened, let his head rest back against the windows as he lent his voice to hers, just as soft, but hoping it would support the melody. Alfred had taught it to him, when he’d come with him to visit his stepmother’s grave. How Delphi knew it, he didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to question it.

_“But since it fell into my lot_

_That I should rise and you should not_

_I'll gently rise and softly call_

_Good night and joy be to you all_

_Fill to me the parting glass_

_And drink a health whate'er befalls_

_Then gently rise and softly call_

_Good night and joy be to you all”_

Their voices faded at the end of it, Jason’s eyes opening to stare at the stars through the canopy of green. When Delphi walked around the truck and climbed into the truck bed with him, he did not say anything. When she sat next to him, Schnitzel between them, he did not push her away. And when she twined her fingers with his, he did not pull away.

Delphi deserved better than him. Someone who could love her in ways that he could not. Someone whole, someone good.

But Jason let himself pretend, for that one night, that she could love someone like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from Hope to Die by Orville Peck. Bargain Store is by Dolly Parton and is, in fact, one of my favorite songs but does have lyrics that could be considered a bit sinister.... and yes, delphi did use yummy by justin bieber against moloch. only a truly aggravating song could succeed at such a thing, after all. if you haven't read House of Leaves.... i can't say i recommend it, as it's Very Dense and not for everyone. but if you enjoy meta-narratives and haunted house tales, you might enjoy it.
> 
> final lyrics are from a traditional irish mourning song called The Parting Glass. 
> 
> thank you as always for reading!! love y'all.
> 
> [tumblr](https://spidergwenn.tumblr.com/)  
> [writing/inspo tumblr](https://violettelee.tumblr.com/)  
> discord: mynoghraa#8836


	7. Part Six: The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: discussion of religion, mention of past abuse, suicide, self-mutilation, major character death(s) [not permanent], sanity slippage, emotional distress, dehumanization, body horror, some casual ableist language

Loneliness was something you had come to consider an old friend, of sorts.

For all of your childhood, isolation was common. Sure, you would run into some of the other children and the older kids, too, during meal time and in the common room. But there was a hard separation between you and them. Even though you were in the same situation, even though you went through similar pain, there was just something… different about you. Something inside of you, something just inherently _you_ that made the others hesitant to interact with you.

Even when you were surrounded by so many other children, you were alone.

The first companion you had was the TV. It was a beaten up old thing in the common room, but when you weren’t confined to your cell or in a prophecy session, you would sit in front of it and simply absorb whatever it had to offer you. The lessons you received to educate you were world class, of course. No use having a prophet who couldn’t understand the things they were saying or doing. But the TV gave you a window into the outside world. What it was really like for everyone outside of the clinical white halls you’d grown up in.

Soap operas weren’t your thing. Too dramatic, too illogical for your tastes. Some cartoons you enjoyed, but others had too much of a tendency to talk down to their audience. You liked the quiz shows and the documentaries and the sitcoms. But the one show you loved, the one that really stuck with you, was The Twilight Zone. It only aired at certain times on one specific channel, but you memorized the schedule down to the second, bribed other kids who wanted to watch the TV with your pudding cups for the week just so you could sit down for half an hour and absorb the stories told to you in black and white.

Each story seemed more fantastic than the last. Little ideas inspired by the world of the past, lessons on morality delivered to you in easy to digest bites. When one of the other kids mentioned a show like it called The Outer Limits that had re-runs as well, you made time for that one as well. For an hour and a half three times a week, you sat down in front of the television and let yourself be transported to worlds so similar to your own, yet so different.

The episodes were supposed to scare you, of course. You were aware of that fact. But nothing shown to you in those self-contained stories could frighten you more than what you had seen in the compound, in the visions that were forced on you. Instead, they were a strange comfort. A confirmation that you weren’t broken, in some way, for thinking that the situation you’d grown up in was wrong. Oppressive. A word you’d sought out yourself, kept locked away in your heart like a dangerous little secret.

Then your TV privileges were revoked. Still recovering from the punishment you had received for not delivering a desired prophecy, one of the Keepers had made it clear that you were to focus only on your studies. Extracurricular activities were restricted to books and whatever hobbies the Matron approved for you that week. Sometimes it was writing, sometimes it was painting, sometimes you had no time approved for any hobbies.

And so you turned to your second companion: books. You’d always enjoyed reading, of course. It was a large part of your lesson plans, the teachers that were brought in making sure that you knew how to read and write as soon as you were able to speak. Although your science and math classes were primarily hands on, your history classes relied as heavily on books as they did on the films and footage that you were shown. For every horrific moment of violence shown in the classroom, it was matched with equally horrific written accounts of war and poverty, crime and punishment.

Although your lessons taught you that the outside world was a cruel, lawless, Godless place, you learned otherwise not only from the TV, but from books as well. You sought out poetry first, drawn to the lyricism and raw emotion placed on the pages. Your choices were limited, of course, as the library and the common room did not bring in any texts that they deemed dangerous. But you were allowed to read Dickinson and Plath, Milton and Blake. You learned about the pains of existing and the cruelty of God, of mercy and revenge and forgiveness. If your TV shows taught you about oppression and abuse, your poems taught you about despair and hope. Although all of them seemed to agree that there was darkness in the world, each also recognized the light that shone in the distance.

For you, that compounded into a chance at freedom.

There was no one in the compound for you to miss. The children who were younger than you were frightened of you, instinctively sensing that you were the type who preferred isolation, while those your age and older had grown to resent and pity you for the things that made you different. Most of them had vague memories of a life before the compound, of families and lives that they were torn away from. Only a few were like you, having only memories of the Order and their heavy hands guiding their development. Most of them disappeared through the years, and any new children born in the compound were kept away from you. At the time, you’d feared that it was because there was just something fundamentally wrong with them, that whatever programs the Order had adopted were churning out monsters that had to be taught the ways of human civilization first.

It was only after you left that you realized it was because they did not want any of you to grow close and scheme against them. Placing you among a group of people who could not relate to you only made you more reliant on the Matron and her Keepers and Handlers. After all, they were the only ones who understood you. Sure, they abused and beat you, treated you as a tool with a limited window of usefulness, but at least they knew you. Knew what made you tick, knew what was inside of you. The other children were just too different. Unable to understand what it was like to only know the padded white walls of a cell and regimented schedules set up to turn every child into a dangerous tool against the Order’s enemies.

As much as you’d appreciated that loneliness and solitude both in the compound and for the brief amount of time you were with the old fortune teller, it had taken its toll. You didn’t know how to interact with people around you, had no social intelligence whatsoever. Your first sessions with clients had been stilted and awkward, neither party knowing what to make of the other. Being alone simply seemed easier. You had your books back with your freedom in Gotham, and your TV, and now music as well, in the old vinyl records that the fortune teller had kept. What more had you needed? You interacted with people regularly. You had no friends, but you’d never known what friendship was, how to navigate it.

But now, on the road, even with constant companions in both Jason and Schnitzel, you still felt some lingering sense of isolation and loneliness. Jason was only gone in the mornings when he went for his run, or when he had to take calls that he didn’t want to loop you into. If he wasn’t there, then Schnitzel was. The dog had attached himself to you, whining and crying any time Jason took him for a walk without you. But for all of Schnitzel’s unconditional love and Jason’s continued empathy towards your situation, neither of them… got it. Neither of them really got you.

For Schnitzel, it was understandable. After all, he was a dog. A smart dog, of course, but a dog nonetheless. He could understand that tears meant you were upset, but not the reason behind the sadness. He knew that when you were unresponsive, you did not want to be touched, skin crawling and violently rejecting any form of contact. But he did not understand why you did not want him to crawl into your lap, why you so frequently could not stand feeling anything on your skin, scars burning and itching. He knew when you were happy, loved when you would play with him and run with him. But he didn’t understand why you were happy. Understandable, again, but still a form of isolation. You were you, and Schnitzel was a dog, and there would always be a hard separation in understanding between the two of you.

For Jason, it was a fundamental difference in the ways you had both been raised. As hard as he tried to accommodate you, as many hours as he had spent listening to you tell stories of how you were raised, he simply didn’t understand. Jason was raised in a large, busy city in a poor district where he was surrounded by people like him. While he’d told you nothing of either of his fathers (blood and adopted) and had only shared a few things about his stepmother, you’d gotten the impression that his isolation had come from his rage at the world and the systems that made it so hard for someone like him to function in it. For all the help that you had given him, he still saw you as small and weak, a person to be protected. Not out of an intent to insult, you knew that. Jason respected you, and respected what you were capable of. But he saw your emotional fragility, your social incompetence, and labeled you as someone to protect.

It was frustrating, if you were to be completely honest. While you appreciated that protective instinct, and while it had certainly saved you in the past from both physical dangers and social misunderstandings, you hated feeling like a burden. For so much of your life you’d been told that your worth was tied to how useful you were. And as it was, you felt distinctly useless. Yet another thing for Jason to worry about, instead of an equal partner on his journey. Again, not through any fault of his own. He tried as best he could to include you in his plans, to have you map out his path for him. But when it came to the actual confrontations with each demon, you felt as if you’d only been there to make his job more difficult (with the exception of Orias, of course). While you had been the one to deal the blow that first felled Moloch, it had come at the cost of your physical wellbeing. Jason had been the one to actually kill him, and if he had been injured, there was a good chance neither one of you would have made it out of the dead god’s labyrinth.

There was, it seemed, no way for you to truly escape that lingering sense of loneliness. No way out of feeling less than. A curse that would constantly follow you as closely as your shadow, dogging your every step.

\---

When Jason had insisted on taking you somewhere as a vacation, a much needed break from all of the death and destruction, it had been hard for you not to feel guilty. After all, it was you who now had stitches in your gut and your wrist, as fragile now as he’d been treating you before. You could have argued, insisted on pressing forward. Especially since something still felt off. A balance that had shifted, some invisible cosmic scale leaning towards a side that left you feeling silently unsettled. A gut feeling, nothing more. But something you still had troubles ignoring.

Something terrible was waiting for you, but you had no idea what it could be.

Still, you’d taken Jason’s offer. If nothing else, it would make him feel better. As terrible as you felt, you had not been the one doing the killing. You hadn’t just faced down your own personal demon and had the foundations of your beliefs torn out from under you. While you were recovering physically, he needed to recover mentally. It was not every day that one learned they were a cosmic mistake. While he’d gently assured you that he was fine each time you asked how he was feeling, you simply couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. That something in him had shifted, and not necessarily for the better.

_“I have a long way to go before whatever remains of my heart could be considered good.”_

Such a cruel thing for him to say about himself. But at that moment, you hadn’t had anything to say. Words had failed you once more, and you’d only been able to hold his hand, to hope he could feel what you were thinking. You’d failed, of course. The drive to New Mexico had been filled with strained silence, neither of you entirely sure what to say to the other. The radio tried to fill that space, cheery pop songs filling the cab that seemed laughably tone deaf. You wanted to comfort him, but simply couldn’t find the words. So, you pulled out your book instead and read while he drove.

You had made good progress in Slaughterhouse-Five (the title had given you pause when Jason first picked it up for you, if you were being honest) when you crossed back through into Texas. A different part, this time. When you carefully placed a receipt between the pages to keep your place and looked out the window, you found only flat, rolling plains. Cows and horses roaming fenced off areas, rusty farming equipment and dust blowing with each gust of wind that rocked the truck.

“Welcome to the Panhandle,” Jason said with a snort. “Thankfully, we’ll be through it in a few hours.”

“The people here are afraid,” you whispered.

You’d just passed a peeling, hand-painted sign on the side of a building that warned sinners to repent, before it was too late. Even inside the truck, driving down the road, you could feel the lingering sense of fear in the air. It was old and new, passed down through generations.

“This part of the country is the God-fearing type,” he said. “Hellfire and brimstone and the wrath of God.”

You were familiar. The teachers you’d had through the years made sure every child in the compound knew that God was not kind or forgiving. That any man who preached otherwise was a liar and doomed to burn in Hell for eternity. You’d grown up terrified of God and his monstrous angels, the very beings that you’d descended from. It seemed right and logical to fear a being who could erase you from existence on a whim.

“I see,” was your reply. A careful one, holding your cards close to your chest. Then, laying them out gently for him to see, “I don’t think I can blame them for that fear.”

“Not when it’s what they’re taught,” he said with a small yawn. “It’s far too easy to only believe what is easiest for you instead of looking at the whole Bible. Don’t… get me wrong. I don’t look down on people for believing in a higher power. If anything, the shit we’re going through proves that s _omething_ has a plan for all of us. It just doesn’t sit well with me when people turn a blind eye to anything inconvenient to them and choose to remain ignorant.”

“Hm.” You rested your forehead against the window, stared as you passed the Jesus Christ is Lord Travel Center, its windows boarded. “What do you believe?”

“Wow.” He let out a soft chuckle. “That’s a big question. I don’t know what I believe. My stepmom was Catholic, even though she really only went to church for Christmas and Easter. Some of that rubbed off on me. And it’s hard to say I don’t believe in a God when one of them reset reality and brought me back to life. I guess I just… don’t really think about it. For a lot of my life I’ve had bigger things to worry about than whether or not there’s a God and if he cares about us.”

For a moment, you simply absorbed his words. Tried to imagine what it would be like, growing up with the freedom to decide what you could and could not believe in. What it was like for him to have both that freedom and that burden, unable to contemplate anything less important than how to survive from one day to the next. Even when he’d been adopted, he’d told you, that hypervigilance had never gone away.

After all, what was God in the face of the constant struggle to simply exist?

“We were taught that God was a being to be feared,” you finally said. You kept your gaze on the road, the Western-style restaurants and hotels you’d passed, the cracks in the asphalt on the highway. “That we were born with His divinity in our veins, but also damned by His judgement against our ancestors.”

“The Watchers and the Nephilim,” he said.

“Yes,” you agreed. “The Watchers who were cast down from Heaven for taking human wives and the Nephilim who were even more monstrous than their fallen fathers. I realize that what we were taught about God and religion was probably twisted and purposely wrong, but… it’s hard to unlearn.”

“When you spend your whole life being told that God hates you,” Jason said with a cold edge to his voice, “it’s hard to think anything else.”

“So it goes,” you whispered, gripping the book in your lap a bit tighter.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, taking the exit towards Santa Fe. “So it goes.”

\---

The dread that had sat heavy in your gut only grew as you arrived in Santa Fe. Not because there was anything innately evil or wrong about the city, from what you could tell. No, it was just a creeping feeling that something was wrong. Something waited for you. Whether it was a demon or Azrael, guided by one of the captive prophets, you had no idea. But you were certain that something bad was going to happen. Knew it bone deep.

Jason had refused to let you do a reading with your cards. No fortune telling, not while you were trying to take a break from it all. If something happened, he reasoned, then it happened. There was no need to feed the paranoia and make it worse. What you didn’t say was that it wasn’t paranoia, that something was _definitely wrong._ That this wasn’t just your anxiety talking, a need for something to worry about for fear you would become too relaxed, too complacent.

You didn’t want to argue with him. You didn’t want to worry him. He looked exhausted, tired not only physically but emotionally. Pushing the issue would only make him feel worse, and you didn’t want to risk pushing too far and angering him. So, you dropped it.

Or, well, you dropped it until you’d gotten a motel room and he was in the shower, voice muffled through the door and the sound of the water. After all, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right? With Schnitzel watching you, you drew out your old deck, quickly shuffling it and immediately feeling your fingers drawn to one of the few cards you’d rarely drawn. The cold shiver that ran down your spine told you what it was even before you turned it over and placed it on the bed with shaking fingers.

_The Tower._

A card of misery, destruction, ruin. Catastrophe and calamity. The one card in the major arcana that did not hold some piece of hope in it. Although there was always an open ending after the card was drawn for a slow, careful reconstruction, it was hard to see that hope past the disaster. You tried to breathe, but found that your chest felt too tight. When you read cards, you could usually at least get a strong feeling about a possible future. A vague set of images that let you settle on a vision of what was to come.

But when you stared at the card, you felt nothing. Saw nothing. Just panic and fear and an iron clad certainty that something terrible was going to happen.

The water shut off and you quickly put your cards away, tried to school your face into neutrality as you picked your book back up. You could hear Jason humming, a soft little tune that set your nerves on edge. By the time the bathroom door opened, Schnitzel was whining at your feet, picking up on your foul mood. You’d curled up in the little armchair, tried to hide your face behind the book cover.

Unfortunately, Jason seemed to pick up on the mood immediately. Drying his hair with a towel, he frowned at you, then at the crying dog trying to get his attention.

“Is… everything okay?” he asked, hesitant.

“Yeah,” you lied. Not very convincingly, of course. You curled further in on yourself, blocked out the sight of him with your book. “Maybe he wants to go on a run with you.”

“I took him out for a run before we left Oklahoma this morning,” he pointed out. You tensed with each footfall that came closer to you, staring at him with wide eyes when he pushed your book down to look at your face. “Something happened.”

Not a question, but a statement. You shrank under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

“It’s nothing,” you tried again, voice weak.

Jason continued to stare you down, narrowing his eyes. There was no malice there, no real threat. But it made you feel even smaller, wilting as he refused to back down.

“Delphi,” he said, stern but not unkind.

“I just… it’s a feeling I got, is all,” you admitted lamely. Not the entire truth, but enough for him to back off a bit. “I know you said to try to take a break from the prophecies and everything, but… Jason, something really bad is going to happen.”

“How certain are you?”

“As certain as I can be,” you told him.

Backing up to sit on the edge of the bed closest to you, Jason held his head in his hands and heaved a long, exhausted sigh. Schnitzel jumped up to press against him, licking at his chin and neck until he gave the dog a few half-hearted pats to the head. Guilt curled cold and heavy in your chest, constricting your heart as you watched him work his fingers through his wet hair.

Perhaps being around you was a curse. Perhaps you’d made his life worse for being in it. Looking at the way his shoulders slumped, the bags under his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel as if it was your fault. All he’d wanted was to take you to a place you’d never been before, taking a couple of days to unwind. But trouble had found you, coiling and poised to strike.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, clutching the book to your chest.

“Stop apologizing,” he said, voice sharp. You flinched, pressing further into the chair as he closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. “Just… stop, okay? This isn’t your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.” You watched him with growing fear, uncertain of what he was thinking, what he was feeling. “I know that you just wanted to take a few days off from this. Take a vacation. I’m really sorry that I keep bringing trouble after us.”

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated, cracking one eye open and frowning at you. “These assholes are after me, not you. I’m the one who dragged you into this, not the other way around.”

“I…” you hesitated, uncertain if voicing your thoughts was a good idea. You did, anyways, afraid he would only grow angrier with you if you hid them away from him. “Jason, I don’t know if that’s true anymore. They want you, but… they want me now, too. If they get rid of me, it’s easier to get to you.”

Time seemed to slow down as you watched him go through a series of emotions. Slow, dawning realization. Fear. Anger. Then a neutral mask once more, slipped on with an ease that left you feeling slightly unsettled. It reminded you of that first meeting in the diner in Gotham, the way that sudden switch in demeanor had frightened you then. He ran a hand over his jaw and you realized (shamefully and inappropriately, given the situation) that he’d shaved, the skin smooth and free of stubble for the first time since you’d met him. It was hard not to be distracted, watch his hands scratch over the pale scar that stretched across one side of his jaw.

“If that’s true,” he started, voice low, “then we need to be cautious. Maybe… maybe leave town in the morning and head somewhere else. I can choose a place at random in the morning.”

“But you wanted to take a break…”

“Keeping you safe is more important.” There was no room for argument in his tone, his eyes sharp as he watched you. “If nothing else, we can have a little bit of fun with what remains of tonight. Have dinner, see anything you want to see.”

It wasn’t fair. You considered arguing, pushing back even though you knew that you wouldn’t win, if only to prove that you were at least _capable_ of disagreeing. But that little thrill of rebellion disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared. A little voice at the back of your head reminded you of what happened when you disagreed. The phantom pain of old bruises bled into your limbs, your nails scraping along the insides of your arms, stopping just as they met the bandages around your wrist.

“Okay,” you whispered. Meek, weak.

You weren’t what they had made you? What a joke. In that moment, you proved that you were e _xactly_ what they’d wanted. Too scared to do what you wanted, molded by years of punishment. Jason frowned at you, the aggressive edge in his eyes bleeding away as you hugged the book to your chest, tried to avert your gaze.

“Delphi,” he said, voice softer this time. Gentle, or as gentle as he could make it. “What’s really going on?”

What was really going on? You couldn’t see the future, not past some disaster that lay in your path, and you were afraid of what that meant. You were guilty for continuing to be a burden, for dragging trouble into the life of a man who had struggled for _so long_ to have some semblance of normality in his life. You wanted to have fun, you wanted to try to forget about everything that had happened and everything that would happen, but you simply couldn’t. There was something inside of you that was broken, a little piece that kept you from simply being able to let go. Tiny shattered remains surrounded by the ruin of what you were, broken shards littering your soul despite how hard you were trying to patch yourself back together.

It had only been a matter of time before you lost it in front of him. Before you really, truly crumbled and let him see you for what you truly were. Eyes burning, you cleared your throat and willed the tears that you could feel wanting to escape to disappear. Just once, you wanted to be strong. Just this once, for his sake. Just once, you wanted to look after him, instead of him looking after you. The one instance of you saving his life wasn’t enough. Your debt to him was too large, the depth of your guilt immeasurable. Gathering yourself just enough to speak, you curled further in on yourself.

“Nothing,” you lied, impressed with how even your voice was. “I’m just… I’m tired, that’s all.”

He didn’t believe you. You could see it on his face, the way he frowned at you and let the towel drop from around his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself for an argument. For him to push you further, to drag out all those jagged little shards in your heart. But instead, he relented. Stood up and let his hand rest on top of your head, gently stroking your hair.

“Let’s just worry about something to eat, then,” he offered. So kind. Too kind, towards someone as pathetic as you. “We can turn in early and drive out in the morning. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed.

Satisfied, he gave you a small nod and pulled away. Barely keeping yourself from chasing after his touch, you unfolded yourself from the chair and followed him out of the room. Schnitzel obediently stayed behind, big brown eyes full of warmth as you quietly shut the door behind you. As you climbed into the truck, keeping silent as Jason pulled out and searched for a quiet diner to eat in, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

\---

_The field of spider lilies had returned to your dreams. Over the past few nights, it had become familiar._

_You wondered if this was where you would meet your fate. If the nightmares you’d had would claim you here, in your sleep. At least it would be peaceful._

_Delicate petals brushed over your bare feet and ankles as you carefully navigated the flowers. You were careful not to crush them, to leave them as beautiful and intact as they had been when your subconscious had first made them appear. This time, you did not wear your flimsy old white dress. Instead, it was a deep black, soft against your skin instead of the way you’d remembered the old article of clothing irritating your scars and making them itch._

_Like before, an ancient pine tree waited for you at the top of a hill. The thick trunk was circled by hand-braided rope, thin strips of paper hanging from it. A strange sense of calm washed over you as you approached. When you pressed your hand to the smooth bark, you felt secure. Safe. Deep in your bones, you knew that as long as you were sheltered by the weeping branches of the old tree, nothing could harm you._

_Even though you’d watched giant foxes devour still-beating hearts. Even though you’d watched a being shift from the shadows, something that made your eyes burn and your brain reel, something not meant for your mortal gaze. Those nightmares had been replaced, strangely, the cycle broken by the simple act of touching the old tree._

_“You’re particularly troubled tonight.”_

_You spun at the sound of the voice, strange but familiar. Smooth as velvet and dark as the night sky. A woman stood in the shade of the tree, appearing from thin air. The robes she wore were made with fine crimson fabric, exposing an ample amount of smooth skin, just a shade lighter than your own. Both of her arms were clad in something resembling long gloves, but the braided black fabric seemed to shift, shining oil-slick in the dim light of the full moon. Similar cloth adorned her legs just above the knee. A living fabric made of shadow, her left arm made of the stuff up to her shoulder. She moved with an unnerving grace, each step calculated and smooth, as if she were floating towards you._

_What alarmed you, more than the limbs and clothing made of pulsing shadow, more than the way she had simply appeared from nothing, was her face. It looked so much like your own. A bit sharper, a bit more mature. Lived in, but still young. She did not wear the same scars as you, her eyes a deep red as they met your own. Tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear, she offered you a cold smile._

_“It took you a while to approach the goshinboku,” she said._

_“The what?” you asked, rooted in place as she stopped next to you._

_“The goshinboku.” Reaching out, she pressed her own hand against the tree. “A god tree. Your mind is so turbulent that I placed this here. Something that would let me reach through your dreams and speak to you.”_

_“Have you been giving me these nightmares?”_

_“I wasn’t planning on them being nightmares, necessarily. You twisted them into that, afraid of my presence here. But everyone is safe under a god tree.” She pulled her hand away, turning back to you. “Even a frightened child.”_

_“Who are you?” you whispered._

_The woman sighed._

_“I’m afraid that’s not something I feel comfortable revealing to you in a dream,” she said. “That conversation would be better when we can meet. Not here, in your little head. Out there, in the real world.”_

_“You’re not just someone I dreamed up?”_

_Her smile turned sad at that._

_“No,” she told you. “I’m very real. And I’ve been trying to find you so that I can help you.”_

_Realization dawned on you. Her face was the one you had seen in the reflection of the pond in New Orleans. Hers was the voice that had been whispering to you to find her. Hope fluttered once more in your chest._

_“You’re not one of the demons trying to kill Jason?” you asked._

_“No.” She shook her head, amused. “No, I’m not one of the demons trying to kill the Lazarus. And before you ask, no, they aren’t my primary concern when it comes to helping you.”_

_“Azrael is.”_

_“Yes.” She bent to pluck two of the spider lilies, placing one behind your ear. “The Order’s own angel of death. He’s been tracking you since you left Gotham and he draws closer with each passing day.”_

_“How close is he now?”_

_“Close.”_

_A frustratingly vague answer. But, considering she had only been able to reach out to you through so many attempts in your dreams, it may have been the best she could give you. The woman tucked the other flower behind her own ear, taking your hands in her own._

_“I’m doing my best to come to you,” she said, her skin cold as she laced her fingers with your own. “To get to you before the doom at your door. But I can’t promise that I’ll make it in time to protect you from the demon that is moving against you. I can’t promise that I’ll get there before Azrael. So you have to promise me something.”_

_After a beat, you gave her a small, hesitant nod._

_“Don’t be afraid to let loose that darkness inside of you. It isn’t something to be ashamed of, child. The storm can only do so much if you keep it on a leash. If you face something truly dire, let it rage. Let the shadows come to you, as well. They are your best weapon.”_

_“What…?”_

_The corruption in you, the thing that felt wrong and dark and threatened to smother the hope in your heart… that was the thing that you were supposed to use? You stared at the woman in thinly veiled horror._

_“I know you’re scared of it.” Her smile was far from comforting, an edge to it that made your skin prickle. “But it’s a gift. I promise you that. It’s hard to believe now, but when push comes to shove, you’ll see it for what it is.”_

_You didn’t want to believe her, this strange woman who had invaded your dreams. Whose mere presence had given you repeated nightmares until one small change triggered what she’d wanted. Why would you trust her, when her eyes seemed devoid of a shred of humanity? But despite knowing that she could be lying, trying to get you to lower your guard with the promise of help before she landed the killing blow, your gut was saying that you could trust her. That she meant no harm._

_“Okay,” you finally relented. “I’ll… I’ll do my best.”_

_“I know you will.” She released your hands, cradling your face instead. “You’ve done well, up to this point. Stay strong.”_

_Before you could respond, she was releasing you, stepping back and away. The still night of the dream shattered, wind kicking up and thunder rolling in. The woman smiled, stepping out from under the shelter of the tree and melting into shadows, slithering out of sight. The storm picked up, hem of your dress fluttering in the wind as you shielded your face._

_There was a blinding flash of light and the crack of lightning, your heart fluttering in your chest as the night shattered into a silver blue flash before dissolving into nothing._

\---

Ears ringing, you sat up in bed, gasping for breath. Blankets tangled around your limbs, you almost fell in your rush to get to the bathroom. You barely made it in time, collapsing to your knees and vomiting into the toilet. Your throat and eyes burned by the time you’d emptied your stomach, limbs shaking as you slumped to the side. The tile was blissfully cool against your feverish skin, the ringing in your ears replaced by the roar of your racing pulse. Time seemed to stretch as you recovered, feeling returning to your limbs slowly and your body grounding itself once more. The hotel room was quiet, the only sound the quiet hum of the window unit keeping the space warm.

After you flushed and rinsed out your mouth, you emerged from the bathroom to find the room empty. Jason was not in his bed, and Schnitzel was gone, too. A quick glance at the digital clock informed you that it was a quarter to 5, early enough that the sun had not yet risen. While your own short sleep had been troubled, you wondered if Jason had slept at all. It was common for him to go on his morning run early, leaving while you still slept and returning long after you’d gotten up.

It should have been a relief, knowing that there hadn’t been any witnesses to your rude awakening. Not having to lie or burden Jason was a good thing. But you still felt oddly heartbroken and lonely, in that moment. Wiping away a few stray tears, you grabbed the blanket from your bed and curled up in the arm chair. On the way, you turned on both a lamp and the radio, hoping that the station it had last been left on would have some songs playing that would soothe your frayed nerves.

You managed to catch the tail end of a ballad before the DJ cut back in, a strange feeling in your gut at the sound of his voice. It was strangely soothing, deep and melodic with a pleasant rasp. But there was just… something about it. The way his words clipped at the end, the way it felt as if he were whispering right in your ear, despite the tinny quality of the speakers.

“That was ’39 by Queen, an appropriate song to start off our day, sweet listeners.” The DJ let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “A song of lost time and the travelers stuck within it, desperately reaching out but remaining unheard. Remember the tune, listeners. And remember that this is only the first of many, many days to come. Spend your time wisely.”

An… odd message, you thought. You frowned at the radio, trying to puzzle out the DJs words as another song began to play. Perhaps early morning radio was full of such odd occurrences, lonely individuals letting out their late-night thoughts to empty air waves. Humming along to the melancholy melody of the next song, you let your eyes drift closed. Shoving aside the odd message, you tried to focus instead on your dream.

The odd woman had refused to identify herself, but you suspected from the way she had appeared and disappeared that she was the odd shadow creature that had haunted your previous nightmares. That did not explain the fox monster but, if you survived the doom to come, you could ask her in person about it. How she would locate you, and how Jason would react to knowing that there was yet _another_ person tracking you, you didn’t know. Part of you hoped that she would find you before the future that The Tower held came to pass. But a much larger part recognized that you were going to have to face whatever was to come alone.

 _But what about Jason,_ a little voice enquired at the back of your head. _Are you alone if he’s with you?_

Of course. You couldn’t tell him about it. After all, you’d gone against his request not to do any kind of fortune telling. Curiosity had gotten the better of you and doomed you as a result. If you did tell him about it, there was a chance that he wouldn’t be upset. That he would understand and help you with a level head and a clear heart.

But the slim chance of him being furious with you convinced you to remain silent.

It was cruel, you knew, suddenly shutting him out the way that you were. But once this was over with, once you’d overcome it, you’d let him back in. At least, that was what you told yourself. And if you didn’t make it through, if this was the end of your journey, well… Well, you weren’t sure how to feel.

If that moment came, you would make your peace then. But for the moment, you had to focus on the present.

Lost in your thoughts, the sound of the door opening startled you. Barely smothering a started yelp, you clutched the blanket tighter around you as Schnitzel leapt into your lap. The dog licked at your face, ignoring the way you spluttered and tried to pull away. He was abruptly pulled away and you took a deep breath as Jason scowled down at him.

“No,” he said, voice firm. “Bad.”

Schnitzel whined, ears pressed back and tail tucked between his legs. But he heeded his master’s warning, slinking over to sit next to the chair instead. Pushing back sweat-slicked hair from his face, Jason glanced down at you.

“Sorry,” he told you, catching his breath. “You good?”

You gave a short nod, rubbing at your stomach. The still-healing wound as a bit sore from Schnitzel landing on it, but the stitches hadn’t burst and the pain hadn’t been significant enough to trigger a vision. Hands braced on his hips, Jason frowned down at you.

“Wait,” he said, “why are you even awake? The sun hasn’t even risen yet, and you’re usually still asleep this early.”

“Just a nightmare,” you said, enough truth in the statement to satisfy you. “Were you able to get any sleep?”

“Not much,” Jason admitted, letting you shift the attention away from yourself. He sat down on the edge of your bed, kicking off his running shoes. “Something just doesn’t feel right. But, like, not the way things felt wrong before. It’s… it’s a different kind of wrong.”

“I understand,” you murmured. “When did you start to feel it?”

“While I was out on my run.” Jason frowned, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Schnitzel could feel it, too. It was just this… visible shift. Like someone had flipped a switch. Turned around and came back as soon as I felt it.”

Which meant that the change had likely happened shortly before you woke up. There was no doubt in your mind that a demon was responsible for it. What you didn’t know was what they had in mind. It would have been easy to just twist a few bruises into your skin, see if the pain brought you any clarity. Even easier to break one of your stitches, open up one of the old wounds for a more detailed vision.

The song on the radio abruptly ended, replaced by a crackling weather advisory. Both of you were silent as you listened, sense of dread building as they announced a coming thunderstorm. Roads were already being shut down, effectively trapping you where you were. As the announcement ended, thunder rumbled in the distance, a threat of what was to come.

“So much for getting out of here,” Jason grumbled. He was still scowling at the radio, thumb idly brushing over his bottom lip. “Even without the interstate getting shut down, I’d be hesitant to drive out into heavy sleet.”

“We’re going to shelter here in the room, then?”

“Yeah.” With a heavy sigh, he stood back up. “I’ll need to extend our stay for another night, at the very least. Hopefully this will have passed us over by tomorrow morning so we can head back out.”

“Hopefully,” you agreed.

Although, frankly, you weren’t convinced. It was all far too convenient. The Tower, the nightmare, the storm trapping you there. While Jason called up the front desk to see if he could add another night in the room, you’d shifted in the chair, pulling back the curtain to peek outside. While the sun normally would have been peeking over the horizon, painting it with the first bleeding bit of day, you instead stared out at a daunting wall of storm clouds. They advanced with uncanny speed, flashes of lightning the only bit of illumination available.

The static under your skin was growing painful. An omen that you couldn’t ignore.

“Jason,” you whispered. “There’s a prophecy that needs to be let out.”

Moving to crouch in front of you, he frowned. Whether he’d been successful in extending your stay or not, you didn’t know. Frankly, you didn’t care. There were more pressing matters at hand, like the painful swell of a vision at the tips of your fingers and the blurring of your vision as it fought to be let out.

“How bad?” he questioned, voice barely penetrating the roar of your pulse in your ears.

“Bad,” you managed to bite out, turning to face him. Your nails raked at your skin, pausing above the stitched wound on your wrist. “Almost as bad as the first one.”

Before he could move to stop you, you’d ripped off the bandages and begun to press down on the wound. Schnitzel let out a startled yelp as blood began to well from the first stitch you’d ripped open. Jason had thrown himself forward, grabbed your uninjured wrist and stopped you from ripping open the last few. But you’d managed to get three of them open, blood oozing from the wound and a euphoric rush taking over.

_“The King sits astride his steed, flaming sword in hand. The seal grows weak, great Paimon setting in motion a cycle of despair. A thousand cuts and a hundred deaths. Blood must flow and the seal must be shattered to break the loop. Release the storm and surrender to the darkness, for only that shall bring you into the light.”_

That was it? As Jason hauled you into the bathroom, setting you down in the tub and letting your bleeding arm hang over the edge, you couldn’t help but hate yourself. Was that really all that you could manage to see? A series of flashing images, the rumble of thunder and the flash of lightning, blood and death and an unblinking gaze. It didn’t make sense. In your vision, you’d seen your own death. Not once, but dozens of times, in dozens of ways. Broken and bloodied and stripped of dignity in your final moments. Which death was the right one? Would you be alone, when it came time for you to die?

Would anyone remember you?

“Hey.” Jason’s voice broke through the haze, calloused hands warm and gentle as he tried to staunch the bleeding. “Stay with me, okay?”

Were the lights beginning to dim? It was becoming harder to keep your eyes open, your body feeling distant as you slowly turned to face Jason. He looked panicked. He looked afraid. You blinked, the act of opening your eyes once more herculean in effort, and looked down at his hands.

“Oh,” you whispered, voice faint. “There’s so much blood.”

It was everywhere. Your nightgown was soaked in it, Jason’s shirt was covered in it, and it had splattered all over the tile floor, pooled at his knees and inside of the tub.

“You must have ripped open your radial artery along with the stitches,” he said. “Delphi, please. Please, keep your eyes open. Hold on.”

This, you knew, was your death. One of many that you had seen. A peaceful way to go, at least. An accident, a failure, but at least in these final moments, you weren’t alone. The towel he’d pressed over your wrist in an attempt to stop the bleeding was already soaked through. With the last remnants of your strength, you reached over and placed your hand over his. He froze, eyes wide as he met your gaze.

“Jason,” you managed. “It’s okay.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, voice breaking. “It’s not okay. You… Delphi, please don’t do this to me.”

“You have to promise me something.”

A long pause. Your vision swam, going darker and darker around the edges. If you hadn’t known better, you could have sworn that you saw tears in Jason’s eyes.

“Okay,” he finally relented. He was still trying to stop the bleeding, still desperate, even though fate had already played its hand. “Okay.”

“Don’t cry for me.”

“Delphi—”

“No,” you interrupted. Ah, your eyelids were growing so heavy. You were so tired. So cold. Your tongue felt leaden in your mouth, words slurred and difficult. “You have to promise me. Don’t cry.”

A shaking inhale, fingers trembling against your numb limbs.

“I promise,” he finally whispered.

Smiling, you let your eyes slip closed. Even if he forgot you, even if he was lost momentarily without you there to guide him, you knew that he would find his way eventually. You had faith in him. Jason Todd was stronger than he knew, and you did not want to haunt him.

Just before you’d gained your freedom, you’d longed for death. Just after you’d gained it, you’d fought to escape it. Now, with Jason’s forehead pressed to yours and his hands clutching at you, whispered words just far enough away that you were unable to catch them, you felt at peace. Sad, of course, that you couldn’t remain by his side.

But it was better this way. Better that you didn’t drag him down and make him weak. As you faded away, you prayed to whatever god would listen that your death was not in vain.

\---

_“But my love, this cannot be_

_For so many years are gone though I'm older but a year_

_Your mother's eyes from your eyes cry to me.”_

The clock radio played the tinny song, red numbers bleeding into your brain. You stared at it in shock, fingers clutching your blanket tightly.

The same song you’d heard before, somber and soft. Alone in the hotel room, you threw yourself out of the chair, looking down and pulling at your thin clothing. Your nightgown was clean and free of blood, and when you peeled back the bandage on your wrist, you found the stitches still intact.

Had it all been a dream? But it had felt too real to be a nightmare, the cold fading sensation of death still lingering in your mind. More than that, you could still taste the prophecy, sitting heavy at the back of your tongue. Could feel Jason’s touch still, hear the rumble of distant thunder. Flexing your fingers, you stared down at your hands and tried to puzzle out what was happening.

“That was ’39 by Queen, an appropriate song to start off our day, sweet listeners.” The same words came from the DJ, the same odd feeling of the voice being close, a whisper in your burning ears. “A song of lost time and the travelers stuck within it, desperately reaching out but remaining unheard. Remember the tune, listeners. And remember that this is only the second of many, many days to come. Spend your time wisely.”

Wait. Your head snapped up, eyes wide. The difference was small, but it was there. The way you’d remembered it, in the overwhelming sense of déjà vu you were experiencing, the DJ had said it was the _first._ Not the second. A minor change, but a change nonetheless. As the next song began to play, the same from your memories, you sank back into the chair. If things were going to play out as they had before, then…

The door opened and Schnitzel burst into the hotel room, leaping into your lap. Jason shut the door behind him, wearing the same clothes, just as sweaty as he had been before. Frowning down at the dog licking your face, he grabbed Schnitzel’s harness and dragged him off you.

“No,” he said, voice firm. “Bad.” Then, pushing sweat-slick hair back from his face. “Sorry. You good?”

“I’ve done this before,” you whispered.

“What?” Jason frowned, bracing his hands on his hips as he caught his breath.

The prophecy. A thousand cuts, a hundred deaths. A cycle. A loop that needed to be broken. Careful not to step on Schnitzel, you got to your feet and began to pace. It didn’t make much sense, what you were experiencing. But if you were dealing with Paimon, one of the kings of Hell, you doubted that reality would stand in the way of whatever his plans were. Perhaps you were experiencing something separate from Jason, each of you stuck in some strange cycle apart from one another. Or maybe it was just you. Maybe you were being dealt with first, an obstacle to the ultimate goal.

Right on cue, the severe weather alert crackled on the radio. Just as before, hail and sleet were expected, roads being shut down. Maybe it wasn’t déjà vu that you were experiencing. Maybe everything you thought you remembered was just a detailed prophetic dream, a few minor details differing now that you were living it out. Different conversations, different actions being taken.

“So much for getting out of here,” Jason grumbled. He’d gone to sit on the edge of your bed, frowning as he watched you pace back and forth, back and forth. “Even without the interstate getting shut down, I’d be hesitant to drive out into heavy sleet.”

“No,” you said, stopping in front of him. “We have to see if we can find an alternate route. We can’t stay here any longer than we already have.”

Jason’s frown deepened and he leaned forward, arms braced on his knees.

“You saw something, didn’t you?” he asked. There was no anger in his tone, but you could tell that he wasn’t exactly pleased, either.

“I had a prophetic dream,” you explained, “or something. All of this happened in it. But I… I hurt myself too badly in it. I know that Paimon found us. I know that he’s doing something. If we leave, there’s a chance that we can get out of whatever trap he’s caught us in so we can figure out what to do about him.”

“Whoa, hold on.” His eyes widened as he stared up at you. “Paimon? Like, King Paimon?”

“Yes,” you said, doing a bad job of hiding your frustration. “Like King Paimon. I don’t know where exactly he is or why I know what I know, but we need to leave _now.”_

“Delphi.” Jason stood, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I get that you’re scared and you’re panicking. And I believe you when you say that we’re in danger. But with the storm approaching as fast as it is, we wouldn’t be able to outrun it. It’s too dangerous. I’m a good driver, but if the roads ice up and the storm is as bad as they say it is, we’d end up pulled over on the side of the road somewhere. It’s best to shelter here and wait for it to pass.”

The logic in his argument was sound, of course. You knew that it was. But your scars burned and the little voice at the back of your head was screaming that you needed to get out. There was no guarantee that fleeing the city would let you slip from Paimon’s clutches, but it was the only option you had at the moment. You needed to _get out._ With a bit of distance between you and the presence that you felt weighing on you, you could figure out what was going on. Puzzle out the dream within a dream, how the hell you’d managed to speak prophecy from an imaginary wound and carry it through with such clarity to your conscious mind.

“I…” You found yourself struggling to find an argument. He was right, and you were wrong. _You’re being sensitive and irrational,_ the nasty little voice whispered to you. Taking a deep breath, you felt yourself slowly deflate. As certain as you were that you needed to act, and soon, you were also certain that Jason was right. You couldn’t just leave. You were cornered. Trapped. Had to find some other way out. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m not upset, okay?” He bent to look you in the eye, lips twitching into a tiny smile. It was the best he could do. “I’m not happy with the situation either. I want to get out of here, too. But if we go out there, into the storm, I can’t promise that we’ll make it out. If we shelter here, I promise that we’ll be safe. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Ruffling your hair, he let you go and took a small step back.

“Why don’t you take a shower, see if that helps you relax? I’ll call the front desk and make sure we can keep the room for another night,” he said.

It was a fair suggestion. More than once you’d simply stood in the shower, the hot water soothing your aching joints and crawling skin. He’d also been careful not to word it like a dismissal, which it very easily could have been. Rubbing at your sore eye, you retrieved some clean clothes and shuffled into the bathroom. You could hear his muffled voice through the door, a steady thump against it coming from Schnitzel’s tail. At some point he’d taken up the habit of guarding the door when you were in the bathroom, which you appreciated. Deep down, you were always a little nervous that Jason would come bursting in on you again.

Peeling off your nightgown and stepping into the shower, you flinched when the hot water first hit your skin, but quickly adjusted. Although you were already beginning to turn pink, steam fogging the tiny room, you did not adjust the temperature. It hurt, but not too much. Just enough to take off the edge, a mild discomfort that relieved the urge to rip into yourself, to let your blood flow. Instead, you scrubbed at your skin hard with a washcloth, wanting to wash off the memory of your warm, sticky blood.

Combing your fingers through your wet hair, you paused for a moment. The back of your head prickled, a phantom feeling that had a chill running down your spine. Ripping open the shower curtain, you reached for a towel and started to wrap it around yourself, lunging out of the shower and towards the door. Something was going to happen, and you had to warn Jason.

In your rush, you foolishly didn’t think about how slippery the tile would be. How your foot would slip out from under you with the lack of friction. Startled, you fell backwards with a short yelp.

Thankfully, the world quickly went dark after your skull cracked open against the edge of the tub, and you were spared any further pain.

\---

_“Don't you hear my call though you’re many years away?_

_Don't you hear me calling you?_

_All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand_

_For my life, still ahead, pity me…”_

The same song. Different lyrics, the very end of the melody trailing off into a familiar voice. Startled, you pressed a hand to the back of your head. You were relieved to find it intact, no dents in your skull or blood matting your hair. But your momentary relief quickly turned into confusion. What was happening? The memory of both deaths stuck with you, fresh and real despite how intact and alive you were in the moment.

Was it a dream within a dream? Or something else?

“That was ’39 by Queen, an appropriate song to start off our day, sweet listeners.” The DJ whispered to you, phantom touch trailing down your spine. “A song of lost time and the travelers stuck within it, desperately reaching out but remaining unheard. Remember the tune, listeners. And remember that this is only the third of many, many days to come. Spend your time wisely.”

There was that little change again. A tally of each incident you’d had so far. Keeping a hand pressed to the back of your head, you closed your eyes and waited. The next song played. Jason and Schnitzel returned from their run. Schnitzel jumped into your lap, licked at your face.

“No,” Jason scolded. “Bad.” Then, just as before. “Sorry. You good?”

Oh, you were far from good. You were starting to think that you knew what was going on, but you only hoped that you were wrong. Taking a deep breath, you played along, nodding as you had in the first iteration.

“Wait,” he said again, “why are you even awake? The sun hasn’t even risen yet, and you’re usually still asleep this early.”

“Just a nightmare,” you repeated, voice soft. “Were you able to get any sleep?”

“Not much,” Jason admitted. He sat at the edge of the bed, just like before, wiped sweat from his face. “Something just doesn’t feel right. But, like, not the way things felt wrong before. It’s… it’s a different kind of wrong.”

“I understand. When did you start to feel it?”

“While I was out on my run.” Jason frowned, bracing his elbows on his knees. A mirror image of the first time. Your skin began to crawl. “Schnitzel could feel it, too. It was just this… visible shift. Like someone had flipped a switch. Turned around and came back as soon as I felt it.”

Which meant that at some level, Jason was aware of these resets. It was clear that he had no memory of the previous versions of the day, as you doubted he would be quite so calm if he’d had to witness you die twice before. Which begged the question of why you were the only one who was remembering them. Was this punishment? Or all a part of Paimon’s plan? What better way to neutralize a threat than to slowly drive her insane?

A hundred deaths. That was what the prophecy had said. There was a chance that it was a metaphor, along with the thousand cuts. You hoped so. Honestly, you didn’t know if you could take feeling yourself die a hundred times. Keeping yourself wrapped up in the blanket, you stood up and went to sit down next to Jason.

“I’ve been having weird dreams,” you told him. Best to admit it to it now, even if he wouldn’t remember it when you inevitably died. “There was something different about the one I had last night. The one that woke me up this early.”

Jason remained quiet, giving you a small nod to urge you to continue. Taking a deep breath, you let Schnitzel curl up on your other side, your fingers sinking into his soft, thick fur.

“There’s someone who’s been looking for me. I saw them very briefly back in New Orleans, and I’ve been hearing their voice sometimes.” When he looked alarmed, you scrambled to continue before Jason could take it the wrong way. “Not… not someone who means me harm! They want to help. But they weren’t able to make it here in time. Something is happening. I knew it because I drew a card last night. I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I just… I had to know what was coming for us. It’s too late to stop the demon now, but I can at least… I can try to figure out how to stop whatever it is he’s doing to us.”

“Do you know who it is?” he asked.

“The person looking for me, no,” you admitted. “But the demon? I do. I just don’t know where he is. Or how to stop what he’s put into motion. But I’m going to figure it out.”

“I can help, you know.” Jason took your hand, thumb brushing over a scar on your palm. “I know I’m not good with any of this magic occult stuff. But I can try to do whatever it is that you need.”

God, you wanted him to help. You wanted to take that offer, but you weren’t sure what he could do. If he had no memory of your strange little repeating days, then you would have to teach him over and over again, hope that it would take eventually. But that would waste so much time, time you would need to try to figure out what kind of spell you were under and how to break it. You tried to focus on the brush of his skin against yours, the warmth of his hand and how it dwarfed your own. Large, secure. You flipped your hand over and laced your fingers with his. There were things you couldn’t say, even if you had nothing to lose.

“I appreciate that,” you whispered. “But I don’t know if there’s anything you can really do.”

As the severe weather warning alert came on the radio as scheduled, you sat in silence, watched his expression morph into one of annoyance and concern.

“We have to shelter here,” you said before he could. “I know. That’s okay.”

You needed to figure out how the loop worked. What triggered the day to start again, whether you would die one way or another, or if there was a way to survive through to the next morning. Even if you did, there was no guarantee that the day wouldn’t loop back over again. You needed to be careful. If you died too soon, it could negate any work you’d done. Jason pulled away with a murmured apology to call the front desk and you remained curled up on the bed. Schnitzel let out a plaintive whine, warm brown eyes staring up at you with genuine, unfiltered concern.

“Good boy,” you murmured, stroking his fur. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

An empty promise, and one you were afraid you weren’t going to be able to keep. But the dog accepted it easily, ears perking up and tail giving a small wag as you continued to pet him. Comforting Schnitzel was easy. A few words, a bit of affection, and he would forget why he was even worried in the first place. Jason, however, was going to be more difficult. How were you supposed to comfort him, assure him that you knew what you were doing when a) you had no idea what you were doing and b) he was far too good at seeing through any attempt at a lie you made. When he hung up the phone with a heavy sigh, you spoke before he could.

“You should take a shower,” you told him. “I know you usually take one right after you get back from a run.”

“You know, if I smell like shit, you can just tell me,” he chuckled. “But yeah, might help me clear my head a bit, too. You gonna be okay?”

“It’s only a few minutes.” You waved away his concern. “I’ll be fine.”

You weren’t entirely certain if that was true, but you also didn’t need him to be babysitting you for every second of the day. A brief moment of separation would be fine. Or, at least, you hoped it would be. Waiting for the bathroom door to shut behind him, you stood up and shrugged off the blanket. Digging in your bag, you tossed clothes and books behind you until you found a notepad and pen you’d taken from the hotel back in Providence. You pulled off the cap with your teeth and settled down on the floor, closing your eyes and trying to focus on the prickle under your skin, the way old fractures ached and scars burned. Tried to channel those small aches and pains into something concrete, a visual representation of whatever fate was trying to tell you. Just like in New Orleans you felt something gently take hold of you, a gentle touch that guided your hand as you began to draw.

Snapping out of your trance when you heard the bathroom door open, you set down the pen and sat back, looking over the sketches you’d made. You’d ripped out at least a dozen pieces of paper from the notepad, the same symbol making an appearance on each of them. It was easy enough to recognize, as you remembered it from the Ars Goetia: the symbol of Paimon. The rest weren’t quite as straightforward or easy to decipher. Different kinds of flowers blossomed at the corners of the pages, along with scribbled, hard to decipher notes. But one word stuck out to you: ‘staircase’. Could you make sense of it? Of course not. But it was better than the complete blank you’d had before. There were also crosses and hastily drawn renditions of religious figures, the only one you recognized being St. Joseph.

Jason sat down next to you, wet hair slicked back from his face and shirt clinging to his damp skin. Cheeks flushed, you quickly looked away, focusing instead on the scribbled, frantic drawings in front of you.

“You were pretty busy,” he said with a tiny sigh as he surveyed the pages. “Anything you got from these?”

“Mm, not much. Not yet, at least,” you admitted. “I’m… I’m still not very good at automatic writing or drawing.” Reaching out, you pointed to one of the pages. “But this confirms that we’re dealing with Paimon. His symbol appears a bunch.”

“Looks like you wrote down ‘staircase’ and ‘miracle’ a few times, too.” Frowning, he picked up the page you’d pointed to. You were impressed he’d been able to decipher your frenzied handwriting at all. “This looks like a doorway with stained glass above it. That’s St. Joseph. Lots of roses, carnations, hydrangeas, and peonies, too.”

“Lily of the valley, too.” You scooted closer, pointing to one of the flowers at the top left corner of the page. “Those are all flowers that people make wedding bouquets with, right?”

“Yeah.” Jason glanced at you, quirking an eyebrow. “How’d you know that?”

“I read a lot of romance novels,” you mumbled, rubbing at your flushed ears. “I think that Paimon is at a church, as… strange as that seems.”

“Nah, it makes sense.” He set down the paper, head tipping towards yours. “What better place for a demon king to hide than holy ground? No one would suspect that to be a place he’d shelter in. I’d be surprised if he hadn’t found out a way to make consecrated walls safe for him.”

“But there are so many churches here…” You were disappointed. On the drive in, you’d passed dozens of them. There was no time to go through each and every one to find the right church. “I don’t know if this helped much.”

“It helped a lot, actually.” Jason leaned closer, placing a hand on your back. “I think I know where Paimon’s at. There’s a chapel here in Santa Fe that’s famous for their ‘miraculous staircase’. Some of the nuns that used to live there said St. Joseph himself built it. The Loretto Chapel. I can pull up a map, some more information on it.”

His touch was almost too much, the weight of his hand and the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric overwhelming. Shaking your head to banish sneaking thoughts of his fingers on your bare skin, you stood up abruptly, fingers fidgeting with your hair.

“I know that the roads are going to be bad,” you said, “but we need to go. I’ll get changed, but if we can take care of Paimon now, then maybe—”

“We’ll go.” Jason grinned up at you from the floor, picking out a sweater and some jeans from the mess you’d made and handing them to you. “The storm shouldn’t hit too hard until later. I’ll pull up a route there. I don’t think it’s far from here. We’ll go there, I’ll kill the asshole, and then we can come back and take shelter.”

He made it sound so simple. Like a routine run to the grocery store, not a confrontation that could potentially leave one or both of you dead and reset the loop. It was a risk you had to take. And if you failed, at least you would remember what you’d learned and take it to your next iteration of the day. Stumbling into the bathroom, you quickly changed, forgoing your usual braid and simply tying your hair back in a loose ponytail. By the time you had emerged, Jason had already strapped one knife to his thigh, another tucked into his boot. He glanced up, shoving one of his pistols into the back of his waistband.

“Ready to head out?” he asked.

“Ah, hold on!”

Careful not to trip and smash your head open again, you slipped your feet into your shoes and retrieved your makeshift feather pendant from the bed table. Once you’d tied it securely around your neck and tucked it under your shirt, you gave a small nod. There was no guarantee that it would do anything to protect you, but it was better than venturing out with nothing to protect you.

Leaving Schnitzel behind for the moment (you really did not want to have to see him in danger), you followed Jason out to the truck. The storm clouds rolled closer and closer, a dark wall that swallowed the sunrise and plunged the horizon back into night. Time was running out. Although Jason assured you that it was a short drive over as he pulled out onto the road, you weren’t convinced it would be enough. Potentially leaving Schnitzel alone for half a day or more just wasn’t an option. You had to get in, take care of Paimon, and get out.

The chapel looked empty when you pulled up, not yet open for the general public. As popular as it was as a tourist location, you also hoped it was empty of any clergy. If innocent people got hurt… You shook your head, trying to gather yourself. No one was going to get hurt. This had to be the iteration where you succeeded. Jason led the way, hand on his gun and eyes sharp in the dark. But as he was picking the lock on the front door, mumbling under his breath about security systems, you felt it.

A sharp pain in your neck. A brief flash of shattering glass. Panicked, you yanked him away from the door, shoving him to the ground just moments before the stained glass above the door exploded outwards. A large shard lodged itself in your throat, severing your vocal cords and your jugular.

You were not spared from Jason’s scream of horror before death took you once more.

\---

_“Don't you hear my call though you're many years away?_

_Don't you hear me calling you?”_

There was no stopping the sob that escaped from you, hand pressed to your throat. You could still feel the searing pain of the glass severing skin and bone, the hot gush of your blood. How had that death even happened? What could you possibly have done to stop that unexplainable phenomenon? Did Paimon have control over the chapel itself? Or had he simply controlled the world to the point that any new dangerous situation could and would happen to you?

You hated it. You hated how powerless you felt in that moment, your control so viciously taken away from you. Where Billy Pilgrim had become unstuck in time in _Slaughterhouse-Five_ , slipping between years and moments, unable to control where he went, you had become firmly stuck in time, forced to live the same day over and over.

Death was the trigger for a reset. That much was clear now. On your fourth loop, you briefly pondered why Paimon was doing this to you. Wouldn’t it simply be easier to kill you for good? Why waste so much effort on you when he simply could have let you die that first morning and taken advantage of Jason’s grief?

So many questions, with no answer in sight.

The song came to an end and you waited for that inevitable plunge back into déjà vu. The same message, the same conversations, a maddening loop that you couldn’t break free of. But instead of the usual whisper, you got something different.

“I don’t think I need to tell you the name of the song again, do I?” the voice from the radio chuckled, raspy voice filling the silent room. You stared at the radio, breath caught in your chest. “You did better than I was expecting, little oracle. I didn’t expect you to find me until at least your tenth death. I acted a bit rashly, I’ll admit, with the glass.”

“Paimon?” you whispered, feeling a bit foolish speaking to the radio.

But it responded. Another throaty laugh, rendered tinny by the little speakers.

“That’s one of the names I’ve used, yes,” the demon confirmed. “Tell me, what do you think of this little trick of mine? Nasty, isn’t it? Most people like your Lazarus aren’t capable of carrying the memories of each loop, but you’re quite special. Makes it all the more fun to watch you struggle to prevent the inevitable.”

“Why go to all the trouble?”

“Because it’s fun.” Paimon laughed again, a nasty sound that set you on edge, jaw clenched. “After a few millennia, the standard hunt and kill gets boring. This little time trick has kept me amused for a few decades. It will get old, too, eventually. But for now, I quite like it. Especially when those I trap in it are already so fragile.”

A cosmic plaything. That was what you had been reduced to. A doll to be tossed about, destroyed over and over again until Paimon grew bored with you. Choking back angry tears, you glared at the radio.

“I’ll leave you to this little loop,” Paimon said, voice beginning to fade into a new song. “Do try to retain your loose grip on sanity for a while longer. It would be disappointing to see you break so quickly.”

This time, you refused to play along. You wouldn’t tempt fate, wouldn’t let him get satisfaction from watching you die again. Instead, you remained silent when Jason and Schnitzel returned. You dismissed his concern, played dumb for the time being. If you stayed in the room, didn’t venture out and stayed careful, Paimon wouldn’t get his next death. There was always the chance that he would simply loop the day over, of course. But you weren’t going to play along. Not this time.

You were careful in the shower, made sure not to slip on the tile and mopped up any remaining water just in case. You stayed inside while Jason made a quick run to a corner store for food and drinks to last the rest of the day. When he sat down to sharpen his knives and clean his guns, you sat at the other end of the room. When the storm hit, you took shelter in the tub with Jason and Schnitzel, holding the trembling dog tight.

The hours crawled by, time stretching as you dreaded an inevitable death. But it did not come. You ate chips by candlelight with Jason, safe in the cramped little space. When you drifted off, the hard surface of the tub cushioned with pillows and blankets, you took a moment to celebrate your victory. Schnitzel curled up at your feet, your head resting against Jason’s shoulder as he read a book, you looked forward to the next morning.

\---

_“Don't you hear my call though you're many years away?_

_Don't you hear me calling you?”_

Throughout your life, you’d felt despair quite a few times. But there was a unique bitterness to the despair you felt when you woke to the next loop. Heard that same song and knew immediately that you had failed. Even though you hadn’t played along, even though you’d avoided a violent death, you’d ended up right back at the beginning again.

There was no message from the radio, from Paimon. Not this time. After all, there was no need. You’d already gotten the message.

No matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried, you had no control over the situation. The only way out was through Paimon and his whims. Until he grew bored, you were stuck. Doomed to repeat this same day over and over and over again until you were driven to madness.

You couldn’t face Jason again. Couldn’t take the same conversation. Not this time. Maybe the next. Maybe the next time you woke up you could find it in you to fight back. But god, you couldn’t do it. Not again. Not then. You didn’t have it in you at that moment to look him in the eye and pretend that you were fine.

Ripping out the stitches in your wrist was easy. Digging your fingers into the wound, you ignored the overwhelming pain, let the familiar rush of euphoric prophecy take over. Laying in the tub, door locked to keep this Jason out when he returned, you let visions of inky black wings and the silver-blue flash of lightning carry you into your next death.

\---

_“Don't you hear my call though you're many years away?_

_Don't you hear me calling you?”_

By the time you reached the twelfth loop, you were ready to give up. It was too much. Each time you’d killed yourself, taken your life before it could be taken from you. Slit your wrists, let yourself slip and smash your brains in. You were scared of whatever death Paimon had planned for you when you left the hotel.

You were tired. But there was some part of you that wouldn’t let go. That stubbornly clung onto the hope that you would break the loop.

\---

_“Don't you hear my call though you're many years away?_

_Don't you hear me calling you?”_

The 24th loop, your despair was replaced by fury. If you had to keep dying, then so be it. You weren’t going to go down easy anymore. If Paimon was going to make you his plaything, then you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

You explained your situation to a once again clueless Jason when he returned from his run. You went to Loretto Chapel with him, relieved when you weren’t killed by exploding glass again. You took one step inside the chapel before the familiar pain of your impending death hit you.

Closing your eyes, you resolved to keep coming back until you succeeded. You didn’t see the shadows that ripped you in two, embracing the rush of the abyss before the inevitable reset.

\---

_“Don't you hear my call though you're many years away?_

_Don't you hear me calling you?”_

Loop 50, you left before Jason got back, determined to take care of Paimon by yourself. You were so tired of hearing his screams, of seeing him cry. You were tired of hurting him. If you had to die, you didn’t want to do it in front of him, not any longer.

On your walk over the storm hit. A tree fell on you as you tried to run to take shelter, crushing you.

Another failure. Another loop. Another death.

\---

_“Don't you hear my call though you're many years away?_

_Don't you hear me calling you?”_

Loop 73. All of your deaths were beginning to blur together into a single, messy memory of pain, of blood and torn flesh and broken limbs. It was getting hard just to keep track of the number. You’d started writing it on your palm with each new start, but you’d struggled to remember what the previous number had been.

Your fragile mind was threatening to shatter. Every attempt you’d made at getting to the chapel alone had failed. Crushed by trees, hit by cars, brained by massive hail, cracking your head open on the street after you tripped on a pothole.

By that point, you wished Paimon would just let you stay dead. Fury had been replaced by a deep existential exhaustion.

You didn’t want to live anymore, if this was what living was going to be. A maddening cycle of the same day, over and over, your life ripped away and then given back at the whim of a cruel being.

When a monster emerged from the shadows of the chapel, you welcomed your violent death with open arms.

\---

_“In the year of '39 came a ship in from the blue_

_The volunteers came home that day_

_And they bring good news of a world so newly born_

_Though their hearts so heavily weigh_

_For the Earth is old and grey, little darlin', wellaway.”_

You’d lost count of how many times you’d lived the same day. Months passed for you, even if it was only one singular day. One cursed, horrible day. Paimon taunted you through the radio, sometimes. He’d clearly grown tired of it, though, since you refused to respond. One loop you’d finally lost your temper, screaming and smashing the radio into tiny little plastic bits.

You’d lost count of how many ways you’d died, too. There had been a few days that you hadn’t, as well. Days when you’d done your best to hide your fraying sanity and just let time slip by. Those were the hardest loops. As hard as it was to come back after having your head ripped off, it was harder to start the same day over after falling asleep curled into Jason’s side, drifting off not to the sound of your breaking bones or rending flesh, but the sound of his deep voice as he read to you.

Sitting curled up in the chair, you allowed yourself a moment to feel exhausted. To feel beaten down and broken. To let Paimon have his win. It was too much. You couldn’t keep doing it.

But then you shoved it all down. Let the fragile little bit of hope that remained in you to swell. Just as beaten and bruised as you were, but alive all the same. Your prophecy had said that you would see the light again. You had to believe in that, believe that there was a way out. Even as you let yourself cry, pressed your face into your hands and mourned for yourself.

When the door opened, Schnitzel did not rush you. Startled by the sudden change, you lifted your head and turned so that you could see what was happening. Instead of his usual leap into your lap, Schnitzel looked up at you with a mournful gaze, ears pressed back and whining. You sniffled, wiping at your eyes as Jason stepped up next to the dog, breathing heavily and face creased with concern.

“Delphi?” he asked, voice rough. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so tired,” you sobbed. Not bothering to keep up the pretense, you let the tears flow again, let your heartbreak show. You were so tired of hiding it, of pretending that you were fine. “It’s all just… it’s too much.”

“Whoa, hey.” Jason crouched in front of you, hands hovering for a moment before he took your face in his hands. You leaned into the touch, sniffling as he brushed your tears away with his thumbs, skin warm and calloused against your flushed cheeks. “Sweetheart, just breathe.”

The affectionate nickname made your breath hitch, your heart ache. You didn’t deserve it. It was selfish, craving his affection. Terrible that you wanted more. Taking a trembling breath, you closed your eyes. Tried to calm down. But it was so hard. You couldn’t keep doing this. It had to stop. You were about to crack, the darkness that had been steadily building up inside of you threatening to spill out.

 _Don’t be afraid of the darkness,_ the woman in your dreams had told you. She’d assured you that they were a gift, but you were terrified of what would happen if you did let go of what little control you kept over it. What would it turn you into? Who could be hurt if you did let it explode out of you? Slowly, surely, you got your breathing under control. When you opened your eyes, you found Jason watching you, eyes dark with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“No,” you admitted, voice hoarse from crying. “I don’t know if I… you…” You struggled for the words. Despite the emotion bursting in your chest, the desperation you felt for him to just _understand,_ you couldn’t find the right way to vocalize it. “I’ve lived the same day over and over, died so many times, and I don’t know if it’s all just a dream or… or if I’m going insane.”

Slowly, cautiously, you explained your situation to Jason. He watched you with open alarm and concern, his hands still cradling your face. By the time you’d finished, laying out the loop you were both in and your sole responsibility of carrying the memories, the mechanics of it through death and sleep, Paimon’s sanctuary in the chapel, he was quiet for a long moment.

“What loop number is this?” he finally asked, voice low.

“I lost count,” you admitted, wiping drying tears from your face with the blanket. “But… it’s probably close to a hundred.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. Hands slipping away from your face, he sat back on his heels, expression dark as he rubbed at his jaw. A nervous tic, one you’d picked up on through each iteration of the day. “You don’t know how to break it?”

“No.” You shook your head, watching him as he stood and began to pace. “I’m assuming that killing him will break the loop, but I don’t know for sure.”

“You’re not going to go through another one.” Hands curled into fists, he continued to pace, furious glare turned towards the ground. “We’re going to do this carefully, and we’re going to do it right. You can’t… I can’t let you keep going through this.”

As much as you appreciated the sentiment, you didn’t know if either of you really had the power to make that a reality. Three months of torment had killed most of the fight you had left. The hope was there, but you weren’t sure you had what it took to break the cycle. Jason seemed determined, though, in a way you hadn’t seen in previous loops. Perhaps you simply hadn’t communicated well enough with him, when you’d attempted to explain before. Or maybe there really was something different about this loop. Jason seemed to pick up on your hesitation, pulling you out of the chair and holding your hands in his.

“I swear to you that this time you’ll break the cycle,” he told you, squeezing your hands once, twice. “Okay? If you can’t have faith in yourself, then have faith in me. I’ll protect you this time.”

You gave him a small nod as an answer. He seemed so determined, and you didn’t want to break that determination. Didn’t want to hurt him any more than you already had. You were glad that he’d at least been spared the curse of remembering each of your deaths, of the happy memories ripped from your hands. As he armed himself, you dressed, trying to think of anything to bring that might help you. You took the time to not only put on your pendant, but to braid the other two feathers into your hair and ensure that Jason was wearing his own feather. After a moment of thought, you tucked the knife Jason had given you into the back of your waistband.

Schnitzel came with you, Jason insisting that the dog would stand guard outside the chapel, unless the storm hit early and you had to bring him inside. Another life in your hands, another loss that you didn’t want to have to handle. As you drove in silence to the chapel, you stared at the storm clouds. They seemed further away than they had been before, still a threat but not as immediate as previous loops. Roads were still being closed and you would still need to shelter for the night, if you lived to see it.

Something was different. You didn’t know if it was good or bad, if it would help or hurt, but the small changes were giving you a bit more hope. If you had both Jason and Schnitzel there, maybe things would turn out differently. Maybe you would break free. Maybe you would save yourself.

You let Jason take the lead once again, doing your best to ignore the insidious presence of the memories of times that had gone horribly wrong. This time was different. This time you wouldn’t be ripped apart by an unseen monster in the shadows. This time you wouldn’t have your throat torn open by glass. Despair was easy. You’d fallen into it before, let it guide you through so many of the loops. Perhaps it had been your downfall for them, the way you had given in so easily.

Steeling yourself, you stepped into the chapel. Already, the atmosphere was different. It wasn’t steeped in shadows as it had been before. Instead it was brightly lit, an uneasy contrast to the darkness of the morning outside. Jason pushed you to stand behind him as you slowly made your way deeper into the sanctuary. Holding onto the back of his jacket, you tried to focus on the prickling of your scars, the churn of your gut, the pounding of your heart. It was only your visceral reactions that would let you know where Paimon was, how he’d hidden himself.

Jason tensed suddenly, halfway to the altar that was dripping in pale flowers. Spinning, he raised his gun, aiming it just above your left shoulder and in your blind spot. You froze, eyes wide.

“Don’t turn around,” he whispered to you. “Something’s up there.”

You could feel it. A sudden chill in the air, a presence that caused your bones to ache. Familiar, like an old friend at this point. Jason wound an arm around your waist, pulling you against him as he kept the gun trained on the figure just out of your line of sight.

“Paimon,” you whimpered, clutching at Jason’s jacket.

Schnitzel began to bark outside, an alarm that neither of you paid much attention to. Not when a demon stepped from the shadows with a low, hoarse chuckle.

“You’ve been a source of great amusement, little 127,” Paimon said. “But I think our time together has come to an end.”

You tried to turn around, but Jason wouldn’t let you. He held onto you tighter, face grim when you glanced up at him. His arm was a vice around your waist, keeping you pressed to his chest.

“You’re here for me, remember?” Jason snarled. “Leave her out of this.”

“Unfortunately, Lazarus, you’ve made your pet prophet a part of our problems by dragging her into this. As much of a threat as you are, we can’t allow her to roam freely, either. She poses a threat to us as long as she’s with you. Some of the others wanted to keep her, but I have no need for a broken toy.”

Sharp words that cut deep, exposing the truth of the core of you. A broken toy. A ticking time bomb, your rapidly fraying control keeping something you couldn’t understand at bay. A low growl rose in Jason’s chest, eyes blazing with anger. His body trembled with the force of his rage, barely contained.

“I am,” he snarled, “so _fucking sick_ of hearing people talk about her like she’s an object. She’s a person. Not something to own and use as you see fit.”

Paimon sighed. You turned just enough to watch as he walked down the miraculous staircase, a perfect spiral held up by nothing but its own weight. By the time he reached the bottom, pausing to lean against a pew only a few feet away from you, you could barely contain your fear. The demon was just as unnervingly beautiful as the demons you’d seen before, his eyes a burning shade of red as they met your own. He was dressed like a priest, of all things, his dark hair slicked back and a spiraling pair of horns emerging from his temples. His skin shone like burnished brass in the warm light, his smile twisted and cruel as he regarded you.

“Your little bodyguard is really pissing me off,” Paimon purred, voice unnerving without the distance you’d had before. Like a cold caress, a promise of violence in his tone. “So I think I’ll kill him first. Get one last little taste of your despair before I get rid of you, too.”

Time slowed. You caught the slow curl of Jason’s finger on the trigger out of the very corner of your field of vision, a furious snarl erupting from him. In the blink of an eye, Paimon had flickered from one pew to another, the shot missing him. Ears ringing from the gunshot, you watched with dawning horror as the demon drew not a flaming sword from his sleeve, but a thin blade that flickered through the air. It sliced a shallow arc through your ear, the edge so sharp you didn’t even feel the burn of the cut, and sliced deep through the curve of flesh where Jason’s neck met his shoulder. Blood splattered against your cheek, warm and thick, the wound so deep you could see bone. With a startled, pained yell, he stumbled back, falling to his knees and dropping the gun as he clutched at the wound. Blood pulsed from it in steady bouts, the scent of copper and salt heavy in the air.

You fell to your knees next to him, fingers shaking as you pressed them over his own, trying to apply more pressure and stop the bleeding. Panic choked you, made it hard to breathe as you felt his blood slick against your skin. You could hear Paimon’s slow, deliberate footsteps towards you, and when you turned, you watched as he changed. His limbs bulged and twisted, lights flickering out and casting him in shadow as dozens of eyes split open across his face. His proportions were all wrong, chest and shoulders broad and his multitude of slithering limbs thin and spindly, pulsing with lean muscle. It was the monster you had seen so many times, the one that lurked in the shadows and ripped you limb from limb. The one who had feasted on your flesh as death slowly, torturously claimed you. Paimon had killed you dozens of times, gleefully listened to a soundtrack of your screams and Jason’s. You stood no chance against him. Not so weak and injured, not with Jason slowly bleeding out, his breath already coming shallow.

“Delphi.” Jason’s voice startled you, drawing your attention back to him. “Run.”

“What?” You stared at him in horror as he gently pushed you away, behind him, towards the altar and away from the approaching demon. “Jason, I can’t—”

“Run!” he snapped, eyes flashing in the dim light. “Get Schnitzel and run from here as fast as you can.”

“I’m not going to—”

Jason snarled at you, only a flicker of regret on his face when you flinched at the sound.

“I said I’d protect you,” he rasped. “Don’t make me a liar.”

One of Paimon’s arms wrapped around Jason’s throat, lifting him off the ground. He let out a pained grunt, hands falling away from the wound. But he didn’t look scared. He looked determined, ready to face down his rapidly approaching death with teeth bared and a curse on his lips. You couldn’t breathe. He was going to die, and you would never be able to tell him—

The last thread of your control **snapped**.

You could feel it. A sudden switch flipping inside of you, all of the darkness you’d kept inside of you spilling out in a flood. The storm inside of you reached a fever pitch as you screamed, clutching at your hair. Your fingers closed around the feathers in your braid, the seething dark in your heart latching onto them. Something pressed against your skin, seeped through it, dripped from the corners of your eyes and lips. You coughed it up, oily pools of shadow that writhed at your feet, ripped from your back and shoulders. They slithered over your skin, across the floor, a seething mass that spilled over the pews. Veins of silver blue light pulsed in the mass closest to Paimon, the only warning the demon got before it shot forward, slicing through the limb that held Jason.

The demon screamed in pain, a maddening chorus of voices as Jason fell hard to the ground. His eyes glowed sickly green, wide as he watched you change. Slowly, your limbs aching and head pounding, you straightened, the weight of oozing shadows at your back morphing into a multitude of dark, nightmarish wings. A bastardization of what you remembered Samael’s looking like. A reminder of the blood that ran through your veins, a curse and a gift both.

Paimon’s cavernous mouth yawned open, flashing rows upon rows of long, serrated teeth. He screamed again, forgetting about the fallen man at his feet and focusing on you. The blood that pulsed from the stump of a limb was thick and dark, almost indistinguishable from the shadows that had spilled out from you. Your left eye pulsed with hot, burning pain, the blindness banished with a cruel, twisted vision. You could see Paimon’s true form, the way it twisted and pulsed, the shriveled heart that beat in the center. You could see Jason, weak but still alive, the thick green shadows that twisted in his veins, the gift of the Pit that had damned him to this journey. He’d pressed a bandage over the wound, slowed the bleeding and propped himself up against a pew. You could smell his blood, the sweat beading his forehead.

For a fleeting moment, you feared what he thought. Feared that he saw you as monstrous, saw the shadows for the festering rot that you’d hidden inside of you. But that clarity vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced once more by a roaring, mad fury. Skin streaked with blood and dripping ichor, you turned back to Paimon.

The demon launched himself at you, your brain racing to keep up with the speed of his movement. You felt a sharp pain in your temples but ignored it. Fought through the pain that radiated through your whole body, flashes of the future mixing with the present, making it hard to focus. With a strength that you’d never had before, you threw the demon viciously to the ground, interrupting his attack. As you raised your right hand, skin splitting open and the smell of ozone filling the space, you saw white hallways and the flash of a blade. As a bolt of lightning ripped through the air, striking Paimon and lighting up the dark chamber, you saw yourself, smiling and laughing, and Jason, his smile fond. As the demon screamed and fell, limbs scorched and a foul smell in the air, you saw the woman from your dream, holding hands with a silver-haired woman, ring glinting on her finger.

You approached Paimon, gasping for breath as the shadows that spilled from you slowly ate away at your body. It was hard to walk, each step sending a bolt of pain up your spine, wings trailing the ground as you stumbled under their weight. Blood gushed from your nose, vessels bursting in your eyes as you lost yourself to the madness. You fell to your knees, wings falling forward to shelter you, oil slick as you plunged your left hand into the demon’s chest. Fingers closing around his pulsing heart, you ripped it out, weighed it in your palm. To a chorus of his screams, you squeezed it tighter and tighter, watched ichor gush and burst until, finally, it exploded.

Hands falling to your sides, you watched the demon die. Slow and painful, fire flickering out of his many eyes, horror transfixed on his twisted features. It hurt to breathe, hurt to move at all. You tasted blood, slumping forward, unable to keep yourself up any longer. Your arms shook, last of your strength slowly bleeding away. A multitude of voices echoed in your head, drowning out the silence of the chapel. It was hard to keep your eyes open, crumbling under the weight of it all. You were ready to collapse, to give in, to let the shadows devour you.

“Delphi.”

A light in the darkness. Hands pushing aside oil slick wings, gently cradling your face. Green eyes that glowed in the shadows, wide not with horror and revulsion, but with concern. You tipped your face up towards Jason as he held it, hands so blissfully warm. The temporary nightmare sight you’d had in your left eye flickered out, leaving it blind once more.

“Delphi.” Your name. The name he’d given you, rough with desperation, calling out to you through the dark. “Hey, come on. Say something.”

“J…ason…” The words were painful, spilled from your lips like blood. “Are… you ok…ay?”

“I’m fine. The bleeding stopped.” He let out a short, bitter laugh, thumb brushing over your cheek. “You would worry more about me than about yourself. I… you have to snap out of this, okay? It’s killing you.”

Was it killing you? You felt liked you’d been dying for so long, it was hard to tell, even in its familiarity. But you didn’t want to see him sad, didn’t want to see him cry. Although it had been so many loops ago, a thing he would never remember, you didn’t want him to break his promise not to cry for you. So you gathered yourself, closed your eyes, focused on the warmth of his skin, the callouses on his palms. Thought of the faded scar on his throat, the perpetual bruises on his knuckles. Remembered his deep, clear voice singing along to the radio, the gentle heart he hid under so many layers of anger and grief. Slowly, surely, you contained the shadows. They melted away, slithered into the far, dark corners of the chapel. Left their thick ichor on your skin and clothes, clogged your throat. You coughed up the last of it from your lungs, thick and cloying. When you opened your eyes, you ached. You felt faint, barely able to keep yourself held up on your hands and knees. The steady nosebleed stopped, your vision blurry as your limbs finally gave out.

Still weak from bloodloss and pain himself, Jason managed to adjust both himself and you so that your head rested on his lap, injured arm wrapped around his middle to avoid agitating the wound. It was amazing that the bleeding had already stopped, a testament to both the ways in which his body had been changed by the Lazarus Pit and his own extensive medical knowledge. Schnitzel’s barking had fallen into an eerie silence, surely an omen of something far worse making its way towards you. But your skin did not prickle, your stomach did not turn. Instead, you watched the door slowly open with a quiet sense of finality.

Schnitzel rushed over, alert as he sniffed first at Jason, then at you. You wanted to reach up, to run your fingers through his fur, but did not have the strength. Jason had stiffened, retrieved his gun, eyes narrowed as a figure slipped in the door behind the dog. Your eyes widened as they stepped into a patch of warm light, heart in your throat.

“Hello,” the woman from your dream said. She wore the same clothing she had in the dream, her hands clasped in front of her as she regarded you both with cold, deep red eyes. “Looks like I missed all the fun, huh?”

She prodded at the rotting body of Paimon with her foot, nose wrinkled in disgust. Jason stared at her, clearly uncertain how to react to the absurd situation.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, grip tightening on his gun.

With a cold smile that flashed sharp white teeth, she knelt in front of you, fingers brushing over your feverish skin.

“You can call me Nanashi,” she said, voice smooth as velvet. Unafraid of the gun, she ignored Jason, focusing instead on you. There was something… strangely comforting about her gaze, despite her clear lack of humanity. Her next words left both you and Jason silent, heart in your throat as you stared up at her. “I’m your little prophet’s mother. And I’m here to help you out of the shit you’ve gotten yourself into.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [does a little tap dance] it's a metaphor for trauma and the cycles of abuse!!!
> 
> man, i know this one was pretty cruel. but i needed to break delphi down to continue the story, and i promise that she and jason will get their happy ending. not without a bit more cruelty down the road, though. also, hi, meet nanashi!! she's terrible and i love her. i hope you guys look forward to getting to know her better.
> 
> also, if you enjoy my work, please [support me over on ko-fi!](https://ko-fi.com/difficultheart) as you guys may or may not know, i'm currently unemployed and fighting to get my unemployment benefits while also needing to pay to keep my health insurance up to date. if you do buy me a coffee, please feel free to put a request in your message and i'll write a drabble for you and post it over on my [tumblr](https://spidergwenn.tumblr.com/). i know these are tough times for everyone.
> 
> thank you as always for reading. i love y'all. stay safe and be kind to yourselves.


	8. Part Seven: The Hermit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: mention of abuse, past familial abandonment, underage drinking, unresolved sexual tension, self-hatred, gore, body horror, mutilation, Nanashi being particularly vicious and cruel to Jason, multiple POV, Schnitzel gets hurt

When you were still a child, still young enough to day dream and naïve enough to wonder about where you came from, you would sit alone in your room, staring at the padded white walls and wondering what your parents were like. The Matron had indulged your curiosity once, when you were ten, informing you that your father was a Nephilim and that he’d been long dead. A phantom that hung over your head, wondering what he’d been like. Had he been one of the children in the Compound, once? Had he lived to adulthood to father you, then quietly been taken care of? Or had he lived on the outside, been found by the Order and volunteered to create you?

You never received an answer to that question. It was a mystery that you’d quietly accepted would never be solved, made peace with it quickly. Your father was dead, and you would never know him. But your mother? Your mother was a different case.

No one spoke about her. The one time you’d asked a Keeper about her, you’d received a quick punishment. The Matron had even visited you to warn you to _never_ speak about your mother again. A new specter had emerged in your life, a large shadow that you were forced to grow under.

For a while, you’d allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like, having a mother. A warmth that you’d never felt, maternal and safe. Maybe she would have been kind to you. Maybe she would have greeted you with a smile each morning, tended to your injuries with a concerned frown. When you struggled to learn Arabic, you imagined a warm hand at your back, quietly encouraging you, instead of the sharp bite of a ruler across your knuckles when you were less than perfect.

In your darkest moments, bandaged and suffering, keeping your crying silent for fear of a Keeper hearing and punishing you, you would close your eyes and imagine a beautiful woman, hand pressed to the swell of her belly and smiling warmly at the thought of you. Loving you and your future existence unconditionally.

But those fantasies had slowly vanished. You’d let go of the idea of your mother, of what she was like. There was, you had reasoned at the time, no reason to chase the shadow of your parents any further. Not when it didn’t matter, in terms of your survival. What little hope you’d kept locked away in your heart did not have room for things as trivial as a parent who had abandoned you to the machinations of the Order of St Dumas and the Matron.

Even in your wildest dreams, you never would have imagined someone like Nanashi being your mother.

There was no warmth in her. Her eyes were cold and ancient, seemed to cut to the very core of you with even the briefest glance. Her very presence set you on edge, triggered a primal fear in you despite knowing deep down that she was not at all a threat to you. After her initial appearance she’d left you alone to try to make sense of what you’d just been through and patch yourselves up. Jason stitched himself up, you bandaged the odd wounds on your back as best you could, and you’d both slept through the storm, deeply exhausted and in need of as much rest as you could get. But when you left the hotel, going to a safehouse in the woods of Colorado to try to regroup and figure out your next move, Nanashi had been waiting for you.

How she’d found the place, she wouldn’t say. But you hadn’t wanted to turn her away, and Jason had respected that decision, despite his own clear reluctance to have anything to do with her. Schnitzel didn’t seem to have an issue with her, acting as cheerful and sweet as usual, bounding around the large cabin and taking in all of the new scents enthusiastically. While Jason deposited your bags in the living room, you followed Nanashi into the kitchen, surprised to find several bags of groceries and take out.

“If I’m gonna be around, I want to make sure I can take care of you,” she explained, glancing back at you before handing you the bag of take out. “Since the Lazarus clearly isn’t doing a very good job.”

You winced at the jab, started to argue with her that Jason was doing a good job. But her cold eyes stopped you, words shriveling at the back of your throat. Guilt pooling cold and heavy in your stomach, you quietly carried the food out to the dining table. Nanashi was close behind you, setting down a large bottle of alcohol and three shot glasses. When Jason walked in, she pointed to the kitchen.

“Do us a favor,” she said, voice a low purr, “and put away the groceries, would you?”

His expression hardened, the displeasure he felt at being given what was _clearly_ an order written all over his face. But he did not argue. Adjusting the sling that supported his injured shoulder, he stalked past Nanashi, grumbling as he made his way into the kitchen. Once he was out of sight, she smiled, the expression cruel as she pulled out the little boxes of food and set them out.

“First lesson,” she told you. “Men are only good for doing what you want.”

“I… okay?” you squeaked.

That didn’t seem right, but you weren’t brave enough to argue with her. She motioned for you to sit down, settling down on the opposite side of the table and pouring herself a shot. Once you’d scooted the chair in, looking over the food she’d set out, she poured another shot and passed it over to you.

“So, now that we’re here,” she said, downing the alcohol and sitting back, legs crossed, “I suspect you have questions.”

“I do,” you admitted softly, “but, um, I’m not old enough to—”

“I know.” Nanashi nodded to the shot. “Promise I won’t tell. Go on.”

After a moment of hesitation, you picked up the glass, wrinkling your nose before you downed it just as she had. It burned, the acrid taste unpleasant and sending you into a coughing fit that made your aching ribs spasm with pain. Nanashi just looked amused, cracking open a pair of cheap wooden chopsticks and picking up a dumpling. Once your coughing fit subsided, the alcohol pooling warm in your stomach, you wiped at your watering eyes.

“Okay,” you rasped, wincing when she poured you another shot. “I guess… I guess my first question is how you found me.”

“Oh, well that’s simple enough,” she said with a shrug, taking a bite out of the dumpling. “Like calls to like. Once you unplugged the little stopper keeping your powers in, I knew where you were. Just took me a while to catch up, since I have my own responsibilities.”

That didn’t make much sense, but you weren’t going to question it.

“What responsibilities?” you asked as a follow up.

“I’m a ballerina,” she explained. “And I have a wife.”

“Oh.” You blinked, surprised. “I… I had a vision of you with a woman with silver hair. Was that…?”

“That would be her,” Nanashi said. Her expression had thawed slightly, a fondness in her eyes that quickly disappeared. “I had to get a few affairs in order before I could come chasing after you. Would have been much easier if you didn’t have someone dragging you all across the country and into danger.”

“I volunteered to help,” you argued weakly. “I… I’m sorry if it made things difficult, but Jason is my friend, and—”

“You good, Delphi?”

Jason had walked up behind you, resting his hand on your shoulder. When you glanced up you found that he was glaring at the woman across from you.

“We’re fine,” Nanashi answered, her own eyes narrowed into a displeased look. “Sit down.”

The atmosphere in the room changed from tense to actively hostile, Jason slowly sinking into the seat next to yours. He set down three plates and sets of silverware with a loud bang on the table, making you jump.

“I have a question,” he snarled. “Why did you abandon your fucking kid?”

There was a long moment of tense silence, Nanashi and Jason staring each other down over the food. Then she poured a shot for him, shoved it over, and let out a heavy sigh.

“First of all,” she said, “I didn’t abandon her. I didn’t even know she existed until a couple of weeks ago.”

“How is that even possible?” he demanded, ignoring the shot. “You said you’re her _mother._ How could you not—”

“Save your anger before you tire yourself out,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Take your shot and then eat something. We’re going to be here for a while.”

Jason tensed and you braced yourself for an argument. Instead, he took the shot and turned to you, expression softening ever so slightly.

“Go ahead, Delphi,” he said.

Not wanting the situation to escalate any further than it already had, you quickly put plates together for yourself and Jason. Giving you a silent nod of thanks, he poked at one of the dumplings you’d plated up with a fork. You stared at your own food, whatever appetite you’d had abruptly vanishing.

“Well, now that we aren’t at risk of being hangry,” she said, voice velvet smooth despite the sharp edge to her words. “I’ll answer your question, Lazarus. I didn’t know that she existed because I wasn’t pregnant with the child. A couple decades ago the Order approached me and promised that they’d let me go about my business and pay me a pretty significant amount of cash in exchange for some genetic material. I agreed and we both went about our separate ways. Last I’d heard, none of the little experiments they’d tried with my donations worked, so I accepted that and went on with my life.”

There was so much information loaded into each of Nanashi’s words. It was too much to handle, to take in, and you had to latch onto just one part for fear of drowning in the sudden rush of emotions threatening to burst out of you.

“But why would they approach you?” you asked, voice soft and uncertain. “What are you?”

“Now that,” she said, finishing off her dumpling and pointing to you with her chopsticks, “is the real question, isn’t it, child? As much as I’d love to give you a detailed answer, I’m afraid that I’m a bit vague on the details of what exactly I am, too. But as best as I can tell, I’m a living manifestation of a piece of a primordial elder god of the darkness.”

“How can you be vague on the details of what you are?” Jason asked, skeptical.

“After a few hundred years, you stop caring about the little things,” Nanashi told him, eyes narrowed. “I care more about the big picture, since memories aren’t forever. All that matters is what I just told you, and anything else, well…” She shrugged. “It’s been lost to time.”

 _A few hundred years._ It was staggering just to think about. The woman sitting in front of you was likely more powerful than you could ever imagine, even as she casually threw back another shot and bit into a second dumpling.

“I have another question,” Jason said, food forgotten and an anger in his voice that you hadn’t heard before.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that you were my daughter,” Nanashi snapped back.

Jason ignored the jab, pouring himself another shot.

“Why didn’t you ever think to check in on whether or not what the Order told you was true?” he growled, slamming the glass down once he’d thrown back the alcohol.

“I was already bored with the whole idea.” She shrugged again, eating the dumpling in one bite. “I’d moved on and didn’t really think about it until Azrael came back on my radar and I felt her for the first time.”

“I still don’t understand,” you mumbled, ignoring the way Jason had bristled in anger next to you, his fork stabbing violently into a piece of sesame chicken. “Why didn’t I know about… about the darkness until just now?”

You pressed your hand over your heart, felt the churning storm there rumble in response. How had you never felt it before, during all those years you’d been locked away in the compound?

“I’m afraid I don’t entirely understand it,” Nanashi told you, her voice softening as she addressed you. “I don’t have much experience with this kind of thing. But I suspect that you may have just locked that piece of me inside of you away, unaware it even existed until you needed it.”

“It just doesn’t make sense.” You sank in your chair, pushing the plate of food away from you and letting your fingers close around the full shot glass instead. “None of it makes sense.”

“Sweet thing.” Nanashi leaned forward, her expression not unkind, but awkward all the same. Her cold fingers rested over yours. “The world is a non-sensical place. You’ve just got to do your best to make your own sense in it.”

Although you tried, you could find no comfort in the words or her touch. So many things already confused and scared you, so how were you supposed to feel better knowing that even more things would be lost to you? How could anyone expect you to make sense of the world when you could barely even make sense of yourself? Nanashi’s fingers slipped away from yours as she settled back into her seat.

“What are you really after?” Jason demanded, shifting forward to glare at her. “You’ll have to forgive me, but it’s a bit hard to believe that after not caring about your own child for so long, you suddenly come to her rescue wanting nothing in return.”

The expression on Nanashi’s face sent a thrill of fear down your spine. You swore the temperature in the room dropped, cold fury radiating off of her. The oily mass that was her left arm seemed to pulse, her hand slowly oozing out of shape and spreading across the wooden surface of the table.

“My patience has its limits,” she hissed, the pitch of her voice shifting in a way that made your temples throb. “Who are _you_ to question my motives, Jason Peter Todd? You can fool the child, but you cannot fool me. I see what you are. And no matter what you say, we both know that your own intentions aren’t so selfless and pure.”

Jason stood, his fury burning hot as opposed to Nanashi’s ice cold wrath. His eyes glowed, grip on the fork in his hand tightening until he’d warped the piece of metal. Before he could say anything, spit out a furious retort, Nanashi continued, words dripping with venom.

“I know what you’ve done, little Jaybird. I know what innocent blood stains your hands, the sins you carry that can never be purged.” Shadows stretched behind her, red eyes glowing as she stood and stared down Jason. “The only thing keeping me from killing you for the danger you’ve put my child in is your usefulness to both of us and her baffling fondness for you. But I’m not so easily fooled. I know a fellow monster when I see one.” Her smile turned nasty, flashing sharp white teeth, blood red lips curled into a snarl. “Poor, forgotten little bird. When did you stop recoiling from it all and begin to revel in the horror rendered by your bloodied hands?”

“Stop.” You stood, the sudden rush of bravery withering away when Nanashi turned her gaze on you. “I… Please. Just stop. He’s my friend.”

“It’s fine, Delphi.” Jason’s voice was broken, softer than you’d heard it. Full of shame. When you looked up at him, you found his expression shattered, glow of his eyes dulled and pained. The usual proud, haughty angle of his shoulders was slumped, defeated. “She’s not wrong.”

“The only thing that matters,” Nanashi spat, still radiating fury, “is that once my child recovers from her wounds here in this house, once I’ve killed Azrael, I am taking her home with me and keeping her safe. _Properly_ safe.”

“But—”

Before you could properly argue, Nanashi’s arm had reshaped itself back to an approximation of a human limb. Her expression was closed off when she gave you a sharp shake of her head.

“No arguments,” she said. “I didn’t come all this way just to let you run back off into situations that will get you killed.”

You wanted to push back. You wanted to point out that you were an adult, that even if she was your mother, you’d only just met her. She had _no right_ to tell you what to do. It was your life, and you weren’t going to suddenly give up living it the way that you wanted to. But you withered under her cold, inhuman stare, the force of her presence making you want to crawl under the table and hide away. Jason had already sat down, his own silence next to you deafening. You wanted to stand up for him, even more than you wanted to stand up for yourself.

Ashamed of yourself, you turned your gaze down towards your hands and silently gave in to Nanashi. Her anger eventually went from a boil to a slow simmer and she heaved a heavy sigh, stepping away from the table.

“I need to go make some calls. I’ve already taken one of the bedrooms here.” The tiny frown she gave you was almost apologetic. “I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night. But we have a lot to talk about come tomorrow morning.”

“Whoa, hold on.” Jason spoke up again, looking alarmed. “There’s only two bedrooms here.”

“Hope the couch is comfortable then.” Waving her hand dismissively, Nanashi left the bottle of alcohol and the remainder of the food on the table.

You watched her until she disappeared around the corner, going to an unknown part of the house. An awkward silence fell, neither you nor Jason making any move to continue eating.

“Jason,” you said, voice soft and unsure. “I’m s—”

“Don’t apologize.” He cut you off, words sharp but tone carefully soft.

“But—”

“Delphi.” He finally turned to look at you, brow furrowed. “Don’t apologize for the actions of others. They’re not your responsibility, okay?”

“I’m still sorry,” you murmured. “Some of the things she said about you… I don’t think they’re true.”

With a heavy sigh, Jason poured and drank another shot, grunting as he adjusted his sling and slumped in his chair. Even more than before, he looked exhausted. The words had very clearly taken their toll on him, even if he was doing his best to tuck that hurt away from you. He turned to look out the sliding glass doors, the sun already set and the stars visible so far away from cities and towns. There was still snow on the ground, spring having not yet come to Colorado.

“I appreciate it,” he said. “But not everything she said was wrong.”

As much as you knew about Jason, as close as you felt to him, you did know that there were things he kept from you. Huge parts of his life were still unknown to you, full of things he was hesitant to share. You respected that, respected the idea of things too personal to share with another person. But you also couldn’t help the curiosity that ate at you, that wanted answers to all the blank spaces in the portrait you’d painted of him in your mind and in your heart.

“You can have the remaining room,” Jason said, interrupting your thoughts and deftly changing the subject. “I don’t mind sleeping out on the couch.”

The idea of being alone in a room, left to nightmares and memories of deaths that were somehow both real and fantasy, filled you with a sudden panic. You shook your head, unable to stop yourself from reaching out and gripping his sleeve. Like it was the only thing that was anchoring you, the last vestige of something _real and solid._

“No,” you blurted. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Jason’s eyes were wide when he turned back to you, expression hard to read. You wondered, suddenly, if you’d said the wrong thing. If you’d crossed a line that you should have been more careful of. Before you could apologize, try to backtrack and fix what you’d said, he spoke, words rushed as if his tongue was tripping over them.

“I… I mean, if you want me to share the bed, I can, but…” There was a faint flush rising on his cheeks. You wondered briefly if it was from the alcohol. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you mumbled. Slowly, you released your grip on his sleeve, reaching over to replace the fork he’d bent out of shape with the one he’d given you. “But, um… only if you’re comfortable with it.”

“I’m comfortable with it.” There was a moment of hesitation before Jason reached out, gently resting his hand on yours. “Whatever you need, Delphi.”

Telltale heat rushing to your cheeks, you stared at his hand, the way it dwarfed your own. His touch radiated a sense of warmth and safety, your stuttering heart slowly calming. Retrieving the fork that Nanashi hadn’t even touched, you slowly picked at your food, a comfortable silence falling between you and Jason as you ate.

Neither of you said anything when you turned your hand palm up, twining your fingers with his. But you could see a smile on Jason’s lips from the corner of your eye.

It wasn’t much. But you were glad that, in your own way, you could offer him even a small amount of comfort.

\---

Jason Todd stared up at the ceiling, wide awake and far too aware of the sleeping girl next to him.

Delphi had drifted off to sleep hours ago, physically unable to keep herself awake any longer. She was still recovering from… whatever had happened to her in the chapel, constantly drifting off to sleep and carrying herself with a slow, heavy exhaustion when she was awake. If he was being honest with himself, Jason was terrified that her transformation had caused permanent damage, invisible and internal. Each slow, quiet breath she drew was a relief, the warmth of her body a reminder that she was alive and well. Although he’d placed a pillow between them, it was a weak barrier, one he could easily shatter if he just reached out.

Careful not to make too much noise or jostle her awake, Jason slid out of the bed. It was torture, laying there with her so _close._ The temptation to reach out, to just draw her closer, was too much. He wasn’t going to take advantage of her while she was vulnerable, even if it was just a simple embrace. Carefully placing his injured arm back in his sling and softly whistling to get Schnitzel’s attention, he crept out of the bedroom, floorboards creaking softly with each step. The safehouse was still and silent, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness as he made his way to the back of the house, the sliding doors well oiled and making no sound as he opened them.

Schnitzel ran past him, bounding out into the snow with unbridled enthusiasm, despite how deeply he’d been sleeping just moments before. The cold night air bit into his bare arms and face, shocking him back to wakefulness. It probably would have been best to grab a jacket before he’d walked out, but he didn’t mind the cold. Looking up at the moon, he let out a long, relieved sigh, breath fogging as it rose into the still night air.

“Can’t sleep, either?”

Immediately on edge, Jason whipped his head towards the voice, startled to see Nanashi leaning against the back of the house. She held a long traditional pipe in her hand, the smoke that she blew from her nose as dark as the night and sweet smelling. Although she wasn’t wearing a coat or wrapped up in a blanket, she looked unbothered by the cold.

“Uh,” Jason said, “no.”

Nanashi let out a quiet hum, red eyes slowly looking him over. There was no heat to the gaze, no motive other than to size him up, but Jason couldn’t help but tense up, cheeks flushing when her eyes met his own. Although she was older, there was no doubt that the woman was Delphi’s mother. They shared too many features, looked too similar to be anything other than family. But there was also a… maturity to Nanashi that her daughter didn’t have, a quiet and natural allure that she seemed all too aware of. When her attention slipped over to Schnitzel, who was rolling around the snow on his back, he couldn’t help but slump in relief.

“What’s the dog’s name?” she asked, lifting the pipe to her lips again.

“Huh?”

“The dog.” Nanashi glanced at him, eyes narrowed and expression unamused. “It has a name, I’m assuming.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jason turned his attention back to Schnitzel, who had run over to a tree, barking at a bird perched high in the branches. “His name is Schnitzel.”

“Cute.” Nanashi let out an amused snort, lips curling in a smug little grin. “Does the child like him?”

 _The child._ Such an impersonal way of talking about her daughter. Jason had to smother the sudden swell of his temper. As much as he wanted to _hate_ the woman for leaving her daughter for so many years, as angry as he was at the situation, as much as he didn’t trust her, he also knew that starting a fight would only make things worse. So he took a deep breath, centering himself.

“Yeah,” he said, “Delphi likes him. She likes animals in general. Before we ran from Gotham, she was talking about getting a cat.”

“A cat, huh?” Nanashi hummed, expression thoughtful as Schnitzel ran back over to Jason. “I’ll remember that.”

Crouching to brush the snow from Schnitzel’s coat, Jason tried to ignore the cold weight of her gaze on him. But it was hard to, those weird eyes of hers looking straight through him. She’d made it clear earlier in the night that she didn’t like what she’d seen, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t really blame her for it.

“By the way,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, “you look familiar.”

“Well yes,” she snorted, “I look like my child.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jason’s voice was flat and he shot a glare at her. “I mean… Wait, hold on. You said that you were a ballet dancer earlier, yeah?”

Nanashi gave him a small nod, eyebrow arched as she blew another ring of dark, sweet smelling smoke into the air.

“I know where I recognize you from.” He snapped his fingers, grinning. “You use the name Nana Kurogane, don’t you?”

“… I do,” she admitted, somewhat grudgingly. “I didn’t take you as someone who went to the ballet.”

“I’m not,” Jason admitted, standing up and watching closely as Schnitzel trotted over to Nanashi, tail wagging eagerly. “My little sister Cass loves the ballet, goes to it all the time. She had a poster of you from your run in Carmen up in her room.”

Nanashi let Schnitzel sniff at her fingers, her expression softening slightly as she reached out to give him a scratch behind the ears.

“You’ve lived in Gotham for years,” he said, hands curling into fists. “But you say you never knew about Delphi.”

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Nanashi glared up at him, gently shooing the dog away from her. She tapped out the remainder of her strange tobacco onto the snow, folding her arms over her chest.

“I already explained myself to you,” she said. “Don’t make me do it again, Lazarus. Gotham is an easy place for a girl like her to disappear in. Distrust me all you want. But in the end I _will_ bring her home safe with me.”

Jason glared right back at her. Even if she was some kind of god, he wasn’t going to back down. Delphi deserved… she deserved a family, but she also deserved safety and security. Although he couldn’t promise it himself, so many demons still chasing after him, he wanted to find it for her. And he simply couldn’t trust that a woman who had abandoned her child to systemic abuse and oppression for her entire childhood would be able to give that to her. Schnitzel whined, picking up on the sudden tension, tail tucked between his legs as he pressed against Jason. Nanashi continued to hold his gaze until her lips curled into a smug grin.

“You should go back inside,” she said, “before the child wakes up and wonders where you are.”

Much as he hated to admit it, she was right. As deeply as Delphi had been sleeping, there was the risk that a long absence would rouse her. Not to mention the cold was starting to get to him, his ears and the tip of his nose already starting to go numb. Clicking his tongue to get Schnitzel’s attention, he started to turn and go back inside, but stopped when Nanashi reached out and placed her oil slick black hand on his chest. He recoiled, shooting her a sharp look.

“Be careful going outside at night,” she told him, staring out at the woods. “Something is out there.”

Great, both cryptic _and_ threatening. But he could vaguely feel it too, something wrong lurking just out of sight. He gave her a brief nod, relaxing when she lowered her arm and went back to leaning against the wall, still staring out into the darkness. Throwing a brief glance over his shoulder, Jason lingered for only a moment longer before he retreated back into the warmth of the safe house. Schnitzel trotted along in front of him, but his heart dropped when he saw the dog perk up, tail giving an excited wag as he skidded around the corner. Jason knew what he was going to find before he stepped into the hall.

“Hey, Delphi,” Jason said, keeping his voice soft. The girl knelt in the hall, wrapped in the comforter, one hand peeking out for Schnitzel to tentatively lick at. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s fine,” she said, voice soft and rough with sleep. Even in the dim light, he could see the bruising around her left eye, the burst blood vessels and red tint to the scar tissue that had been her iris. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He smiled, crouching down to watch as Schnitzel burrowed his way into her little comforter cape, only his bushy tail sticking out. “Just had some trouble sleeping, wanted to take Schnitzel out. Are… you okay?”

Delphi gave a tiny shrug, barely even visible in her little blanket huddle. Schnitzel’s head popped out of the top of the blankets near her shoulder, his tongue lolling out and his tail wagging violently. There was a bit of shuffling around under the blanket, the dog resting his head on the girl’s shoulder as she opened up the comforter to hug him properly.

“Something felt wrong and I woke up,” she told him, resting her cheek against Schnitzel. “You… you weren’t there, so I wanted to check—”

“I’m fine.” His smile wavered, although he tried to keep it up. “Let’s go back to bed, okay? You need your rest.”

“Okay.” Already her eyelids were beginning to droop, the exhaustion setting back in. “Okay…”

So easy and pliant. It set him on edge, a panicked voice at the back of his mind screaming that something was wrong. He clicked his tongue, watched Schnitzel reluctantly slip away from her to obediently trot back to the room they were sleeping in. Delphi was slow to stand, and when Jason offered her his hand, she gratefully took it. The comforter slipped down her shoulders as she leaned against him. Her skin felt too hot, especially through the thin fabric of his shirt. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped an arm around her and helped her back to the bedroom.

She all but crumpled into the mattress and he helped her unravel the comforter from around her. Jason was quiet as he spread it back out, slipped back onto his side of the mattress after he’d tossed aside his sling. The pillow that he’d placed between them had disappeared, tossed onto the floor. Time seemed to slow as Delphi crossed the unspoken line between them, curling into his side and gripping at the fabric of his shirt. Her legs pressed against his own, her head so close to being pillowed on his shoulder that he could feel her breath on his skin.

“Is… is this okay?” she whispered, the words floating above their heads. “I’m sorry, I can—”

“No,” he breathed, heart in his throat. “No, it’s… it’s fine. Whatever brings you comfort, Delphi.”

A quiet, relieved sigh escaped her, her eyes slowly closing. He watched her, watched the way the tightness in her expression melted away as sleep took her once more. Watched her soft face go, somehow, even softer. Watched her long eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as she dreamed, her grip on his shirt slowly going lax. Schnitzel settled at the foot of the bed, another quiet, protective presence. Soothed by her body pressed against his, by the gentle tide of her breathing, Jason let his eyes drift closed, his fingers gently brushing against her own before he let sleep finally overtake him.

\---

Nanashi laid several items before you on the table the next morning, sinking into the chair across from you. She had pinned her hair back, wore a comfy sweater and jeans, looking almost normal. You stared at a pink embroidered pouch, a long bundle wrapped in black silk, and a nice-looking envelope, sealed with wax and a lettering that you couldn’t read. Jason was still in the kitchen, fixing breakfast, the faint smell of bacon wafting through the air.

“Gifts,” she said, motioning to each object. “And a letter from my wife to you. She asked me to bring that pouch and the gifts inside to you. The other one,” she pointed to the black silk bundle, “is from me.”

“… What?” you asked lamely, turning your stare back up to her.

“Gifts,” she repeated, voice flat. “For you. Go on.”

When you hesitated, she shoved the envelope and the pouch towards you, brow pinched in aggravation. You wilted at the look in her eyes, carefully picking up the pouch first. The pale pink fabric was soft against your fingers, the little clasp at the top easily opening. When your fingers brushed against the first object inside of it, you felt a swell of magic, the exhaustion deep in your bones replaced by a warm, bright energy. A soft gasp escaped you, eyelashes fluttering as you pulled out a little pink and blue cloth pouch, a fox embroidered on the front of it. Your skin tingled as you turned it over in your palm, let it rest there. Your skin soaked in the magic, the fragile broken bones of hope in your heart fluttering and mending back together. The other item in the pouch was a little doll made of papier-mâché, round and red, the strange face painted on it gazing up at you with blank white eyes.

“What… what are these?” you asked, gingerly setting them down in front of you on the table.

Nanashi simply motioned to the envelope. A quiet order for you to read the letter within, no doubt holding some explanation for the gifts you’d received. Carefully, you broke the wax seal, the paper that the note was written on smooth and expensive looking. The handwriting was neat and careful, but written with a care that made your heart swell as you began to read.

_“The journey you take on is tenuous, and no doubt frightening, and I'm sorry this is the path you have to walk. But don't look to the future with fear; you aren't alone, no matter how much it feels that way sometimes. Here are gifts to help you hold your head high as you move ahead._

_The pouch is an omamori. It's a charm to bring you good luck and safety, in this case, and carries the visage of the goddess Inari. May her bounty bless you and bring you safe harbor._

_The doll is a daruma. It's a wishing doll. Paint in one of the eyes, and focus on your wish as you do so. Once the wish has been fulfilled, paint in the other eye, and keep the doll for luck._

_Be well, be safe, and don't be afraid. When your journey is over, you've nothing to fear from me, or Nana. I promise that regardless of what happens in the days to come, you will find joy. Know that all my best wishes are with you, and I cannot wait to meet you when you are ready.”_

The warmth in your heart swelled at the words you read, vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes and rolled down your cheeks. Your fingers shook, holding the letter carefully, a precious thing that you did not dare risk damaging. Breath caught in your throat, you carefully set it down, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand.

“My wife,” Nanashi said, voice the gentlest you’ve ever heard it, “Sumiko. When I told her about you, she gave me these gifts to give you before I left. As much as you are my child, you are also hers. Her heart is kind, and no doubt full of love for you, even though she’s yet to meet you.”

Sniffling, you picked up the daruma, turning it over in your hands. When you looked back up at Nanashi, her smile was open. Kind. As close to loving as she could likely get.

“I don’t have any paint,” you whispered, voice watery and cracking with emotion.

“I brought some.” She smiled, digging in one of the pockets of her sweater to take out a small brush and a tiny pot of black paint. “Traditionally, the left eye is the one that is painted in first. But you can start with whichever you’d like. The luck will be there, all the same.”

A small shuffling sound behind you alerted you to Jason’s presence, his steps light as he stopped behind you, positioning himself so that you could see him. When he bent down to place a mug of coffee (cream and sugar already added) in front of you, he frowned as he surveyed the items.

“What are these?” he asked, reaching over them to place the other mug he’d carried in front of Nanashi.

“Gifts,” you told him, trying to turn so he could not see the tears that still ran down your cheeks. “From Nanashi and her wife.”

His eyes caught on the envelope, the strange writing on the front that you could not recognize. The vague frown on his lips slowly slipped away, his hand stilling on your shoulder.

“Did your wife write this?” he asked softly, picking up the envelope and showing it to Nanashi.

“She did.” With a smug grin, Nanashi sat back in her chair, crossing her legs. “I see that you know Japanese, Lazarus.”

“What does it say?” you asked, daruma momentarily forgotten.

His fingers traced over the script “私の大切な子供”, warmth filling his gaze as he turned to you.

“Watashi no taisetsuna kodomo,” he said, the words slipping easily from his tongue. “It means ‘my precious child’.”

“It’s a very affectionate term,” Nanashi explained further, sipping her coffee. “One only ever used with family. Family, like you are to her.”

 _Family._ Something you’d never had. Alone in the world, kept carefully to yourself to avoid any trouble. You’d never thought that you would find family, not after you’d given up hope on finding your mother… on finding Nanashi. But now, you had not just one mother, but two. One you’d yet to meet, but who had sent you gifts loaded with warm, powerful magic. Jason had set down the envelope, turned his attention to the daruma in your hands. He took a deep breath, blinking rapidly before he spoke again.

“Pretty strong magic,” he murmured. “Is your wife…?”

“She’s a kitsune.” When you gave her a blank look, Nanashi explained further. “A fox spirit, a messenger of the goddess Inari. Magic comes naturally to her.”

Jason let out a low whistle, hand still on your shoulder as he straightened back up. Something had shifted in him, the hostility he’d shown to Nanashi before nowhere to be seen. Giving you a smile, he walked back into the kitchen, likely to get himself some coffee and finish up breakfast. You heaved a small sigh of relief, glad he hadn’t commented on your tears. Still basking in the warmth of the magic radiating from your gifts, you took the brush and paint and very carefully filled in the left eye of the daruma. As you did so, you felt your wish in your heart, hesitating for a brief moment before you finished painting.

It was a simple wish, but the one that held the most weight. You wished not for yourself, but for Jason. Wished for him to find peace and safety, and for his journey to come to an end so his death could finally stop haunting him. You set aside the supplies and gently set the daruma in front of you, smiling at its lopsided face, a mirror image of your own.

“Keep the daruma and the omamori safe,” Nanashi said. “Keep them close. As close as I’ll be, they’ll offer you the best protection that you can get. And if that luck isn’t enough, well…” She motioned to the last object on the table. “That’s where my gift to you comes in.”

Intrigued, you carefully picked up the black silk bundle, whatever it was heavier than the previous gifts. Setting it in your lap, you carefully unwrapped it, fingers stilling when you saw what you had been given. It was a sword, the hilt wrapped in dark leather and the scabbard the darkest black you had seen, a gilded dragon embossed on it. When your fingers closed around the hilt, you felt a rush of cold, dark energy, feeding into the storm brewing in your blood.

“It’s a kodachi,” she explained, pride in her voice. “A traditional short sword. I got that one several centuries ago, given to me by a warrior as thanks for my joining his cause. It carries a small piece of his soul, and the soul of the person who forged it. It also contains a small piece of my own, since I’ve carried it for so many years.”

Carefully, you drew the sword from its sheath, felt the energy in it pulse stronger into you. The blade itself was black, seeming to swallow the light around it. You had to snap it back into the scabbard, heart pounding at the rush you’d felt.

“I… I don’t know how to fight,” you whispered, wrapping the sword back up.

“Then I’ll teach you.” Nanashi shrugged, still smiling as you set the kodachi aside. “You don’t have to rely on anyone else. Take your agency, little one. I’ll make sure you can protect yourself.”

“Hey,” Jason called before you could respond. “Breakfast is ready. Delphi, you want me to bring you a plate?”

“No,” you called back, standing up and wincing a bit at the soreness that radiated through your body. “I’m fine.” Once you’d made your way into the kitchen, you frowned up at him, noticed the red rim around his eyes and the way he couldn’t quite meet your gaze. “Jason, where is your sling?”

“What?” He looked startled for a moment, then waved off your concern. “Oh, it’s fine, I don’t—”

“Wear the fucking sling, Lazarus,” Nanashi said, passing by the two of you. “Don’t make yourself useless for longer.”

Not exactly the way you would have worded it, of course. But the coarseness of Nanashi’s order was likely more effective than whatever plaintive, halting pleas you had to offer. Grumbling under his breath, Jason shot the woman a glare before he stalked out of the kitchen, heavy footsteps retreating down the hall. You sighed, shoulders slumping as Schnitzel came over to sniff at you, curious as to the smells in the kitchen. Nanashi clicked her tongue, getting his attention as she offered a strip of bacon to him.

“Sometimes, when you have to get things done,” she told you, handing a plate of eggs and bacon to you, “being gentle just doesn’t cut it, child. Remember that.”

\---

It was late afternoon when the child sensed that something was wrong.

Nanashi watched her, quietly fascinated with the way the child’s body language changed, the shy slump of her shoulders suddenly straightening, eyes wide, fingers running nervous paths over the lines of scarring on the inside of her arms. The Lazarus was also immediately alert, his senses always attuned to her, always prioritizing her.

“Delphi?” he asked. _Gods_ , that fucking name. She hated it, no trace of the child’s heritage in it. That would be fixed later, a proper name given to the child when she was safe at home. “What’s wrong?”

“My cards,” the child whispered.

There was no hesitation. The Lazarus jumped up from where he’d been sitting in an armchair, running off to the bedroom. It wasn’t long before he returned, throwing himself down on the couch next to her, pressing the deck of tarot cards into her fidgeting hands. Nanashi watched it all from her own spot in another armchair, eyes narrowed as the child took out the cards with shaking fingers, shuffling them before she laid out one single card on the coffee table in front of her.

“The Hermit,” she whispered.

An interesting card. One that tended to indicate isolation or circumspection of some sort. Nanashi stared at it, silence falling over the room. The child let out a long sigh, fingers rubbing at her scarred eye, the dark bruising there that had yet to fade.

“Something found us,” the child said, her voice fading at the end, the exhaustion still plaguing her taking back over. “I… I’m only seeing eyes in the darkness. Everything else is like a thick fog. It’s… hard to see through.”

“That’s okay.” The Lazarus’ voice was soft, careful. “At least we know there’s something out there. That’s enough for now.”

“But—”

“I agree with the Lazarus,” Nanashi said, finally speaking up. “Your body is still recovering from the transformation. Pushing yourself will only make it worse. We know to be careful, to keep an eye out, and that is all we need to know for the moment.”

The child was visibly unhappy, fingers curling into the sleeves of her sweater. Her brow furrowed, body curling in on itself as she fought whether to argue or to be obedient. The Lazarus gravitated towards her, hand hovering over her shoulder. He always seemed to move towards the child, a pull that was mutual with her, each of them always seeming to lean towards the other. A magnetism that neither of them seemed to see, despite how clear it was to Nanashi. The Lazarus closed his eyes, sighed quietly as he pulled his hand away, fingers curling into a loose fist.

“Go get some rest,” he said, tension in his voice. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“But Jason—”

“Please.” He cut her off, trying to keep his expression gentle, warm. “Nanashi and I can keep an eye out. When you wake up, we can talk more about it, come up with a plan. Okay?”

A tense moment, both Nanashi and the Lazarus watching the child closely. Waiting for her to either agree or fight it, whether to relax or tense. Finally, she let out another little sigh, slowly standing up. The Lazarus started to rise with her, but stopped himself.

“Okay,” she sighed. “But… if anything does happen, please wake me up.”

“Of course,” Nanashi told her. “Now go. Rest. Perhaps your dreams will reveal something.”

The child slowly shuffled out of the room, her light steps disappearing down the hall. The dog followed after her, both Nanashi and the Lazarus waiting until they heard the door click shut before either of them spoke.

“Something is wrong with her,” he said, voice tight. “She’s been tired all the time. I think she’s been running a fever, too.”

“The transformation took a physical toll,” Nanashi told him. “It takes time to heal, Lazarus.”

“But _why,_ ” he said, Pit green eyes narrowed at her, “did it do that to her?”

Nanashi sighed. To her, the answer was clear. But she supposed that to an outside observer, someone who did not understand the root of what she was, what the child was, the sickness would make little sense. She tried to gather a shred of patience, reminding herself that as much as she disliked the Lazarus, disliked the storm of violence he’d dragged her child into, it was clear that he cared for the child. Despite his stupidity, he wanted what was best for her.

“Think of what I am,” she said, leaning forward, “as a parasitic vine. I have many tendrils, many seeds that can be taken and planted. But those seeds can only take to a certain type of tree, otherwise the vine will eat it, slowly poison and kill it. My body is the tree that can support the vine, strong and sturdy, able to support the way that it blooms. The Order took one of my seeds and planted it into a tree with softer bark. So when the vine began to bloom, it ate into the tree, weakened it.”

The Lazarus stared at her, slowly processing her words. He adjusted his sling, winced at the movement jostling his wound. After a long pause, he finally spoke.

“So, what you’re saying is that using the powers that you gave her could kill her.”

“Yes.” Nanashi gave a small nod, frowning. “It’s a miracle that she was even brought into the world. Any siblings she may have had likely never developed past the Order’s initial synthesis. I’ve had hundreds of years to grown into what I am. But she has not. She is her father’s child, primarily, with a little seed of me planted and trying to grow.”

“Is she going to recover from the chapel?” he asked.

“Eventually, yes.” Nanashi rested her cheek on her hand, watching the way the Lazarus’ expression changed, the small twitches of emotion that he would quickly bury and try to hide away. “There may be some permanent damage, but nothing that will kill her. I want to teach her how to control it, to use it sparingly and only when it’s needed. But it will likely take years, and leave a toll on her body.”

An invisible weight pressed down on the Lazarus, his shoulders slumped and the dark rings under his eyes only seeming to get darker. Nanashi did not take any pleasure from delivering this news to him. As much as she disliked him, she could also see how much he cared. Being told that there was something planted deep within a person who had carved their place into their heart that could kill them was a heavy burden to bear. A dark thing to carry within the soul.

“I just want good things for her,” he finally whispered. He could not look at Nanashi, eyes glued to his own hand, fingers flexing into a tight fist. “I want her to be happy.”

“I know you do.” Nanashi could not help the way her lips twitched into a half-smile. “Although I’m curious why your distrust in me has suddenly disappeared.”

“The letter.” The Lazarus finally looked up at her. “The gifts your wife gave to her. I… there was a love there that I don’t think she’s ever had before.”

Ah. It would be Sumiko, lovely, sweet Sumiko and the heart she kept hidden away, that would sway a hardened heart towards trust. Nanashi missed her, felt her wife’s absence like a piece of her had been torn away. Not even the daily calls she made were enough. Simply hearing Sumiko’s voice could only soothe the ache so much.

“I cannot say that I will be a good mother to the child,” Nanashi admitted, keeping her gaze locked with the Lazarus’. “If I’m honest with you, and with myself, my primary concern is keeping a potential weapon capable of great devastation from falling into the hands of the Order of St Dumas. If they take her, they could do damage that cannot be reversed. But Sumiko… because the child is mine, Sumiko loves her. Unconditionally. She will give the child everything she would ever need and more. I promised her that I would bring my child home to her, and I will not risk breaking that promise.”

“Then I’ll do what I can to help you keep that promise,” he said, the full weight of his heart laid out before Nanashi. “Whatever it takes.”

“I will hold you to that promise.” Nanashi’s smile bared her teeth, let some of the darkness slip through. “Her fate is your own, Lazarus. Tread carefully. Because I cannot promise to keep my disdain for you in check if she is not around to protect you.”

The message was clear, and he gave a solemn nod. If the child died, if he failed to keep her safe, his life was forfeit.

Whatever deaths the demon had in mind for him would seem a kindness in the face of Nanashi’s wrath.

\---

The buzzing under your skin erupting into a blinding, white-hot pain woke you, a breathless gasp leaving your lips. Falling out of the bed, blankets still tangled around your legs and skin sweat-slick, you clawed at your skin, struggling to breathe. There was a heavy weight on your chest, your heart slamming rapidly against your ribs. Schnitzel began to bark, the sound distant, as if you were deep underwater as he leapt off the bed and stood over your shivering body.

Nanashi was there first, her cool palm pressed against your feverish forehead so soothing you almost wept. The dog backed off quickly once she was there, falling silent once help had arrived. When you reached out for your mother, she took your hand, cold presence grounding you.

“What do you need?” she asked, deadly calm even as you gasped for air.

“I need… need to let it out,” you managed to say, gripping her hand hard and squeezing your eyes shut. “Hurts. Cut it out!”

Jason crashed into the room then, falling to his knees on the other side of you as you opened your eyes. Panic rolled off him in waves, his hands hovering over you, struggling with what to do. But Nanashi remained calm, her hand slipping from yours so that she could move you, your head resting on her lap.

“Lift up her shirt,” she barked at Jason. When he hesitated, she let out a low hiss. “Just enough to show her ribs, Lazarus. Now.”

Fingers shaking, Jason complied, his gaze flickering away from you as he pulled your shirt up until it rested just below your chest. Nanashi bent over you, blood red eyes narrowed as you struggled to meet her gaze.

“Look at me,” she said. “How deep do I need to cut?”

“What?” Jason’s voice was sharp, fingers bunching into the hem of your shirt. “You can’t just—”

“Child.” She cut through his argument, forcing you to focus on her, only her. “How deep?”

“Enough to hurt,” you whimpered, chest heaving with each shallow breath.

“Hold her down, Lazarus.” Nanashi’s gaze flicked up and away from yours, no room for argument in her tone. “Keep her still.”

There was no hesitation on Jason’s part. He gathered both of your hands in his as he knelt at your side. Nanashi’s touch against the top of your ribs on your right side was cold, the slight prick the only warning you got before she dug her nail deep and slashed open your flesh. Hot pain lanced through your side, the blood welling up quickly as you felt the familiar rush of prophecy, eyes rolling back in your head as it slipped from your lips.

_“A wolf at the door, a wolf at the door, hunting the weak and the injured, craving for blood. He is called Aamon, lost from his legions, come from the mountains to complete what his brethren have failed. When the moon is full he will strike, hunting the three until none are left. The Lazarus must protect his heart, make a sacrifice to strike down the wolf in the dark. Keep the wolf from the door. Keep the wolf from the door. Let the darkness guide you and be your blade.”_

You came back to yourself slowly, the pressure under your skin fading into a vague tingle. Nanashi pressed a hand over your wound, both she and Jason wearing matching troubled expressions. His hand had moved to wrap around your wrists, kneeling between your legs and pressing you down and into Nanashi’s lap. The position had a strange flush rising in you, even while you recovered from the draining hangover of the prophecy.

“The full moon is tomorrow night, isn’t it?” Nanashi asked.

“Yeah,” Jason sighed. “Not much time to prepare.”

“Much as I hate it,” she grumbled, “I’ll help you out. But this is the _only_ time I’ll get involved in this demon situation. Understood?”

“Understood.” Jason gave her a brief nod, expression dark.

“Good.” Nanashi pushed you up and off her lap, sending you falling forward into Jason. Ignoring the strangled noise he made, letting go of your wrists to catch you, she stood, flicking your blood from her hand. “Tend to the child. I’ll go outside, see if I can hunt for any signs of this Aamon.”

Before either of you could argue, she was out the door, clicking her tongue to call Schnitzel after her. You stared at the empty doorway, still reeling from the sudden influx of information and pressed to Jason’s chest. He cleared his throat, glancing down at you.

“Can you walk?” he asked, voice strained.

When you gave a short nod, he helped you to your feet, walking close behind you as he guided you to the bathroom. Flicking on the light, he pulled out a large medical kit, setting it on the toilet and opening it.

“Might take a bit longer since I’m working with just one arm,” he said. “But while we’re here, I’ll help change out the bandages on your back, too.”

“Oh.” You blinked down at him, fingers clutching the hem of your shirt. “You… you don’t have to do that, Jason.”

“I know I don’t.” He glanced up at you, pulling out antiseptic and gauze. “I want to. Sit down with your back to me in the tub. And, um… If you’re comfortable, it’ll be easier to work if you take your shirt off.”

You hesitated, heart in your throat. Of course, you trusted Jason. He was your only friend, had kept you safe and comforted you time and time again. But you were afraid. Afraid of what he would think when he saw not only the wounds on your back, but the scars that had been left there years ago. It was bad enough that he had seen you transform into something monstrous, had been there to witness the rot that you’d tucked away blossom in the worst possible way. Jason remained silent, gaze steady as he waited for you to make your decision.

When you sat down on the edge of the tub and pulled your sweater off over your head, there was no sense of relief. In fact, it was the opposite. There was a tension in the air, Jason still behind you. You heard him take a deep breath before he moved to crouch behind you. You tensed, startling at the first touch of the gauze pad to your skin.

“Whoa, you good?” Jason asked, immediately pulling back. “Did that hurt?”

“I’m fine,” you ground out, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans and eyes squeezed shut. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he told you, voice gentle. His hand touched your right elbow, carefully guiding you to lift your arm. “Keep this arm up for me for a bit, yeah? I don’t think this will need stitches, so this shouldn’t take too long.”

You gave a brief nod, trying to keep your breathing even as you kept your arm raised above your head. Biting back a hiss as he cleaned out the wound, you winced at the brief flash of a vision, glowing eyes in the dark. Even though he was hindered by his own injury, Jason moved quickly, cleaning the blood from your skin and gently dabbing the wound clean as well before he carefully taped a bandage over it. You had to hold it down for him, the angle awkward and making your shoulder ache. But soon he was moving to your back, peeling away your own shoddy bandaging and revealing more and more of your marred skin to his eyes.

When he paused, you wondered what he was thinking. Was he repulsed? You’d only gotten brief glimpses of the ragged wounds on your back while bandaging them, the skin around them run through with darkened veins. Or maybe it was the long scars of a past punishment that gave him pause. A reminder of what you were. A broken thing, undeserving of the love showered upon you. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you blinked back warm, stinging tears, arms wrapped around your stomach. You heard Jason take a deep breath behind you before his hand rested over one of the long, jagged scars near the small of your back.

“These scars,” he said, voice low. “When did you get them?”

“Almost four years ago,” you whispered. “I was sixteen. It was a lesson… I’d given them visions they were displeased with.”

Another long moment of silence. It was hard to breathe, heart constricting with the fear that he would finally see the parts of you that you didn’t want him to see. The ugly parts, the ones that made you unlovable. Instead, you felt him rest his forehead against your shoulder, fingertips pressing lightly against the scars. You shivered, hugged yourself tighter at the flare of heat the touch kindled in the pit of your stomach. Jason stayed like that for a long moment, breath washing warm over your already heated skin. When he did finally straighten up, you felt suddenly cold, already craving his touch once more.

But you restrained yourself. Nails biting into the soft skin of your waist, you remained still as Jason placed fresh bandages over the healing wounds. Each brush of his fingers over your skin felt like sweet torture, stoking something in your heart that scared you, some unknown feeling that had you trembling. When Jason finally pulled away from you, you opened your eyes, glancing back at him. His cheeks and ears were flushed, gaze glued to the medical kit as he closed it up. You quickly pulled your sweater back on, relieved to no longer be bared so plainly before his eyes.

“Jason…” Words withered and died on the tip of your tongue, all of them feeling hollow and tasting of ash. “I… You—”

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable.” He cut you off before you could speak any further, each word carrying a bitter, pained edge. “I just… god, Delphi, you were _just a kid._ ”

Tossing the medical kit back under the sink, he ran his hand over his face, leaning against the counter. You watched him, another swell of emotion driving you to your feet. Before you could question it, before you could second guess yourself, you had wrapped your arms around him, pressed your face against his chest and held him tight.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you mumbled into his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. “I’m just… I’m not used to all of this.”

“I know you’re not.” His arm came around you, pulling you closer even though it pinned his bad arm against his body. “But you will get used to it, eventually. You have people who care about you now, Delphi. And the people who did that to you… the people who hurt you, they’ll get what’s coming to them.”

You didn’t know how long you stood there like that, let the warmth of his presence, his affection wash over you. But when he did pull back, you could have cried. As brief as it had been, you craved more, wanted to attach yourself to his side. Just once, you wanted to be selfish. Instead you stood down, sniffled and blinked back a fresh wave of tears as he brushed hair back from your face and smiled down at you.

“You did good,” he told you. “And Nanashi and I will keep you safe. I promise.”

“Are you going outside, too?” you asked. The mere thought of him stepping into the woods, the sun already set and the moon hanging heavy in the sky, sent a thrill of fear down your spine. “The prophecy—”

“I know.” He rested his hand on top of your shoulder, took a deep breath. “But I’ve got to make sure we’re all prepared. As powerful as Nanashi is, working together is the best option we have. I’ll be careful. You stay inside, no matter what, okay? I’ll send Schnitzel back in to keep an eye on you.”

Once more, you were completely useless. Unable to help outside of dire warnings, vague threats that were spelled out on your lips and the tips of your fingers. It was frustrating. Even with the blade that Nanashi had given you, you were a liability instead of an asset. As if he could hear your thoughts, Jason let his hand move up to cup your cheek, tilting your face up so that he could look you in the eye.

“The best thing you can do for me right now,” he told you, each word gentle, “is to keep yourself safe. Focus on recovering. You’ve done more than enough for me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

When Jason smiled, you found your gaze lingering on his lips for a moment longer than usual, fingers curling into the sleeves of your sweater. Strange, foreign feelings filled you, made your chest swell and your skin tingle. Thumb brushing briefly over the swell of your cheekbone, Jason sighed before he stepped away from you.

“Wait.” You reached out, curled your fingers around his wrist. When he turned back to you, you fidgeted, suddenly nervous. “Be… be safe. Okay?”

“I will.” He smiled, carefully slipping away from you.

Long after he’d left, you still remained in the bathroom, fingertips tingling. Something in you had changed. You weren’t sure what it was, but when you pressed your hand over your chest, you found your heart beating to a different rhythm, desperate and longing for something you couldn’t put into words.

\---

The next day came too soon, late morning sun filtering through the curtains and rousing you from sleep. Schnitzel had taken Jason’s empty spot in the bed, his snout tucked into your shoulder and your fingers curled into his warm, thick fur. The new wound on your ribs still stung, a dull pain radiating down your side as you slid out from under the blankets. Wood floor cold on your bare feet, you shivered as you grabbed the first jacket you could find, pulling it on as you shuffled out into the hall. With the sleeves hanging past your fingertips and the sharp smell of gunpowder lingering on the fabric, you dimly realized that you’d grabbed one of Jason’s hoodies, thick and warmer than your own. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you rounded the corner, blinking as you slowly made your way into the living room.

“Good morning,” Nanashi said, looking up from a book she had been reading. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” you mumbled, rubbing at your sore eye and glancing down at the couch, where Jason was laid out, snoring and fast asleep. “Were you both up all night?”

“We were,” she confirmed, snapping the book shut. “I’m afraid that very little got done other than the Lazarus getting briefly lost in the woods and both of us becoming very frustrated, but I was able to place a few wards around the cabin. When Aamon does cross them, we’ll at least have a head start against him.”

It was hard to feel particularly confident about that. While Nanashi was powerful, she also didn’t seem invested in the upcoming fight, speaking about it more like an unimportant meeting she had as opposed to a life-threatening situation in which Jason would have to make a sacrifice. With his injury and your own, the fight would not be easy. Trying to quell the sudden buzz of anxiety under your skin, you leaned against the back of the couch, watching Jason’s face as he slept.

“Much as I hate to admit it,” Nanashi sighed, resting her cheek on her hand and watching him as well, “he cares quite a bit for you.”

“He’s a good friend,” you whispered, wondering why the admission stung. “He… he tries his best. And he had a good heart. It’s just hard to see sometimes.”

“Hm.” She let out a thoughtful hum, eyes narrowed. “I suppose.”

There was a beat of silence before you straightened, smothering a yawn and pushing your messy hair back from your face. While you hoped that Jason would get more sleep, you also wanted to make sure that when he did wake up, he had coffee. Shuffling into the kitchen, you searched through the cabinets until you found the coffee, going through the motions to make a full pot. Nanashi wandered in once it was finished, taking the cup that you offered her with a small nod of thanks. While you prepared your own cup of coffee, you could feel her eyes on you, a cold weight that set you on edge.

“Tell me,” she said once you had taken a sip of your coffee, leaning back against the counter, “a little bit about yourself, child. I’ve been quite selfish and only told you about me. I would like to learn more about you, instead.”

You hesitated for a moment, frowning as you took a long drink of your coffee. What was there for you to tell her that she hadn’t already learned herself? If she knew things about Jason that you didn’t, surely she had done her research into you, as well. But it was, you supposed, also a way to bond in a meaningful way with you. Fingertips tapping nervously against your mug, you moved to sit up on the counter, feet swinging.

“Well,” you said haltingly, “I… I really like baking. I haven’t been able to bake since we left Gotham, but I miss it. I like reading, too. I used to just read paperbacks that I could pick up in the thrift store, but Jason has introduced me to so many new books. I… I like the ones with dragons a lot. And science fiction, too. When I was in the compound, they let us watch TV sometimes, and The Twilight Zone was my favorite show.”

“Oh?” She smiled, genuine curiosity in her gaze as she motioned for you to continue. “Go on.”

“I like sunflowers, and the color yellow,” you continued, feeling a small swell of confidence. “I can also speak Arabic, Mandarin Chinese, Spanish, and German, as the Order wanted all of us to be fluent in those languages. I like the smell of rain and fresh baked bread. I like cats, but I really like Schnitzel, too. I like to sing along with the radio, and jazz music is my favorite. One day, I want to learn how to dance.”

For a while, you simply sat and told your mother about yourself. About your fears, about your hopes and dreams, about your time in the compound. You finished your first cup of coffee, poured another one for yourself and for her. She was quiet, attentive as you spoke, genuinely seemed to be listening to what you were saying and committing it to memory. If she did speak, it was only to ask for clarification, to prompt you further when you hesitated or became lost as to what to tell her.

Time passed easily, the awkwardness and fear you’d felt towards Nanashi slowly melting away. When Jason shuffled into the kitchen, bleary eyed and still half asleep, she was telling you about learning ballet in Russia, about the mentors she’d had. He froze when he spotted you, the whole kitchen going silent.

“Good morning,” you said, confused by his reaction. “I hope we didn’t wake you up.”

“Uh…” He blinked, shaking his head and rubbing at his jaw. “No. No, you’re good. Is that my hoodie?”

“Oh, yeah.” You curled your fingers tighter around your mug. “Sorry, it was the first thing that I grabbed.”

“No, no, it’s all good.” He cleared his throat, finally tearing his gaze from you so that he could pour himself a cup of coffee, emptying the pot. “Anything happen while I was asleep?”

“Nothing of note for you,” Nanashi said, smirking at him.

Jason shot her an exhausted glare, taking a long sip of coffee before he heaved an even longer sigh. Shirt rumpled and hair mussed, you had to curl in on yourself to keep from reaching out to smooth down the cowlick at the back of his head.

“We should make a plan for tonight,” he mumbled, setting down his mug to run a hand through his hair, only further messing it up. “Decide who’s doing what and how things are going to go down.”

“Well, Lazarus,” Nanashi sighed. “While I did agree to help, this is your fight and not mine. I’ve already done my part by setting up wards that will alert us to Aamon’s presence. Anything further will have to be handled by you. My primary concern is keeping the child safe.”

“That’s fair,” Jason sighed. “I… guess I shouldn’t expect anything more from you.”

“Mm, no, you shouldn’t,” she agreed.

Straightening up and chuckling at the dark look on his face, Nanashi set her empty mug in the sink and lingered for a moment before placing her hand on the top of your head and giving it a small, awkward pat. You stared up at her, confused by the motion.

“Thank you for speaking to me this morning,” she told you. There was a fondness to her voice that hadn’t been there before, different than what you’d heard and seen when she spoke of her wife. “Do what you can to help out the Lazarus, and know that when night falls, I’ll be here to keep you safe.”

“Where are you going?” you asked with a small frown.

“To call Sumiko,” she sighed. “And to reinforce the wards, just to be safe. If I see anything while I’m outside, I will let you both know. And Lazarus?”

Jason grunted, still trying to fix his hair.

“Try not to fuck this up.”

With one last cruel smirk aimed at Jason, she slipped out of the kitchen, the back door sliding closed behind her as she went outside.

“Well.” Jason sighed, finally letting his hand drop. “No pressure or anything.”

“Everything will be fine,” you told him, trying to believe it yourself. “Maybe the sacrifice is something minor. Or an emotional sacrifice, instead of a physical one. Although… maybe that’s worse.”

Gods, you were babbling. You blamed Nanashi for it, for getting you to talk for so long about completely unimportant things. Being quiet was better. At least then you didn’t make yourself look like a complete and total fool.

“It’s not that I’m worried about.” He shook his head, picking his coffee cup back up. “I’ll be fine. Whatever the sacrifice is supposed to be, I’ll give it up. I’m more worried about that bit about protecting my heart.”

“Hmm.” You kicked your feet again, frowning. “You have body armor, don’t you? That should protect your heart.”

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat, staring down at his feet. “I don’t think it meant my literal heart.”

“Then what would it mean?”

Jason stared at you for a moment, baffled. You stared back, just as confused.

“Don’t… don’t worry about it,” he finally said, slumping against the counter. “I think that angle should be covered.”

“But you just said—”

“Would you mind making some more coffee?” he blurted, setting down his mug a bit too heavily and striding over to the fridge. “I’ll make us a late lunch, since I slept in.”

A quick glance at the oven clock confirmed that it was already late afternoon. Apparently you’d been talking for much longer than you’d thought, wasting precious hours of the day. Frustrated at yourself for keeping Nanashi preoccupied when she could have been doing something more important, you huffed as you hopped off the counter. Going up on your tiptoes, you stretched to reach the coffee, nightgown and oversized jacket riding up. There was a choked sound behind you, but when you glanced back, Jason coughed, back to you. Strange. Perhaps you had just been hearing things.

While you prepared another pot of coffee, Jason heated up some of the leftovers from the other night, a strange tension in the room. Compared to the relaxed atmosphere you’d had with him before, how easy it had been to be around him, you wondered if you’d done something wrong. Was it because of what he’d seen the night before? Was it because of what you’d become in the chapel? Or was it the family that had suddenly come crashing into your life, your mother who was so openly hostile towards him? You stared down at your hands, the scar on your left palm prickling and your fingers twitching.

In that moment, you wanted to be anyone other than who you were. You hated what you were, what you harbored in your heart. You hated the skin that you were in, ruined beyond repair. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes. Doubting yourself, letting it consume you, wouldn’t help anything. It would only make you even more of a burden than you already were.

“Hey, Delphi.” A warm hand on your shoulder, deep voice bent close. When you opened your eyes, you looked up at Jason, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you lied. “Um, I’m going to go let Schnitzel out. The coffee should be ready in a bit.”

Before he could say anything, call you out on your lie, you shrugged his hand off and retreated from the kitchen. Nearly sprinting into the bedroom, you shut the door and leaned back against it, breath still caught in your chest. Slowly, you slid down, hugging your legs to your chest and burying your face in your knees with a frustrated groan. Something had changed. Not just in you, in the way that you saw Jason, but between the two of you as well. Although your mind wanted to run wild with fantasies ripped straight from paperback romances, you weren’t even going to entertain those thoughts. There was no way they would ever happen, and if you got your hopes up, your heart would only break that much harder when your fears were proven right.

Jason was your friend. As much as you wanted him to be something more, as much as you knew that your heart wanted more, a friend was all he was going to be. Schnitzel approached you, letting out a low whine and licking at your cheeks when the first few bitter tears burned your eyes. Sniffling, you hugged him, buried your face in his fur as another little piece of your fragile, broken heart shattered.

Because, no matter how you felt, Jason could never fall for someone like you. Not someone so broken, so pitiful, so filthy. Your soul was stained, not only at the hands of the Matron but by your own dark nature. You were damned, and you feared that you would ruin him, too.

Crying quietly into Schnitzel’s fur, you slowly began to spiral. What if Nanashi took all the things you’d told her and decided that you weren’t worth it? What if she knew about the things that had been done to you in the compound, things you still hadn’t told Jason, and took you in out of nothing but pity and her duty to her wife? What if your own mother, who had abandoned you for so many years, abandoned you again? What if you got back to Gotham and Sumiko took one look at you and decided you weren’t worth the love she’d put in that letter? What if it had all been wasted on you, when others deserved it more?

You took a deep breath, the press of Schnitzel against you and his distressed whines bringing you back to reality. How weak you were, falling apart so easily. Pulling back, you let Schnitzel lick at your face, sniffling and stifling a laugh when he placed his front paws on your shoulders, pressing you back against the door and doing what he could to cheer you up.

Even if everything did fall apart, even if your worst fears came true, at least Schnitzel would always love you. Not wanting to make Jason suspicious, you wiped at your face quickly and got up, cracking the door open and checking up and down the hall before you stepped back out. When you passed the kitchen, you peeked in quickly, heart sinking when you saw Jason leaning against the counter, head in his hands. But you didn’t want to bother him any further than you already had. Moving quietly, you opened the back door for Schnitzel, catching just a snippet of Nanashi’s conversation. Her voice was soft and warm as she spoke, although you couldn’t understand what she was saying, Japanese rolling comfortably from her lips.

Closing the door and giving her a bit of privacy, you snuck back to the bedroom, pulling a change of clothes from your bag. Maybe a shower would help you. The warm water would soothe your aching joints, banish the way your scars itched. You would have to replace the bandages, of course, undoing all of Jason’s hard work the night before. But it would be worth it, if cleaning yourself helped you gain some mental clarity.

But of course, it couldn’t be that easy. You were only more troubled when you emerged from the shower, dripping water on the tile floor as you clumsily pulled off sodden bandages. The gash on your ribs was already beginning to heal, not anywhere near as deep as you’d thought it had been. Still a bit tender to the touch, but the scab had held up under the hot water and your own manic scrubbing. Your back, however, was a different story. Craning your head to look in the mirror, you winced when you saw them. Six ragged wounds, the veins around each of them still dark. They weren’t infected, didn’t feel hot or puffy to the touch. But they still ached, making you bite your lip to hold back pained whimpers as you slathered them in antiseptic ointment and poorly bandaged them.

Emerging from the bathroom, tugging down the hem of your shirt, you froze in the bedroom doorway. Jason sat on the floor, assembling his rifle and humming to himself. Before you could run off, he looked up and directly at you. He had tossed his sling somewhere, bandages peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

“Oh,” you said.

“Glad you came in,” he said, smiling up at you. As if the awkward tension before hadn’t even existed. As if your heart wasn’t lodged in your throat. “There’s not much time before the sun should start setting, and there’s no telling when this demon will make his move. I wanted to go over a couple things with you.”

“Ah.” You blinked, somewhat relieved. Stepping into the room, you retrieved your brush from your bag, sitting down at the end of the bed. “Sure.”

He’d already turned back to the gun, deft fingers putting together the dozens of pieces with practiced ease. You watched, fascinated, as you brushed out your hair.

“Nanashi’s still outside, probably doing whatever it is she does.” He rolled his eyes, snapping the last piece into place and laying the rifle across his lap. “There’s a basement in this safehouse. I’m the only one who has a code, so I’m the only one who should be able to get in. When the wards get tripped, you go down there with Schnitzel. You’ll be safe there.”

“What?” you frowned, setting down your brush. “Jason, I can’t just sit by while you’re in danger.”

“You can, actually.” Turning to face you, he set the rifle aside and rested his hands on his knees, expression dour. “I appreciate your concern, Delphi, but I’m doing what was advised in your prophecy. Plus, you’re still recovering.”

“So are you,” you pointed out. “You’re going to hurt yourself more. I can help. Please, just—”

“Take the sword that Nanashi gave you and the omamori that her wife gave you,” Jason interrupted, getting to his feet and wincing. Ignoring whatever pain he felt, he slung the rifle over his shoulder. “They’ll keep you safe.”

“No.” You stood up, glaring at him. Taking a stand, not letting your fear choke you into silence. “I’ll stay in the house. But I’m not hiding away. I’m protecting you.”

“Delphi—”

“No!” You stepped closer, puffing out your chest and jabbing him hard with a finger. “I’m not a damsel in distress for you to protect, Jason. Not any longer. I’m in this, and I’m going to help you get out of it, too. However I can.”

Jason wanted to argue. You could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed. Bracing for it, you held your ground, hands on your hips. But, much to your surprise, he backed down. Heaving a sigh, he ran a hand over his face, eyes closing.

“Fine.” Shaking his head, he took a step back. “But keep Schnitzel with you. And if Nanashi or I tell you to run, you run. Got it? I don’t want you risking your life for me. Not again.”

That was really too bad, because if it came down to it, you would absolutely put your life on the line for him. Whatever it took, you would make sure Jason was eventually free from this nightmare. But you gave a brief nod, played along for the time being. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he nodded to your things, carefully piled in the corner.

“Well, grab your stuff. We’re running out of time.”

Jason did not have to tell you twice. Moving as quickly as you could, you gathered what you needed in your arms. Your feather pendant, the omamori Sumiko had given you, the knife Jason had given you, and the kodachi. Slipping the red string over your head, you glanced up at Jason.

“Are you wearing the feather?” you asked.

With a sharp nod, he pulled it out from under his shirt. Seeing it set you at ease, at least somewhat. But it wasn’t enough. So you took his wrist and pressed the omamori into his hand, already missing the calm, soothing warmth of the magic woven into it.

“Keep this on you,” you told him. “Don’t argue with me. You need the luck more than I do. I’m sure it will protect you just as well as it would protect me.”

Jason stared down at the little pink and blue pouch, his thumb brushing over the fox embroidered on the front.

“Okay.” His lips twitched into a smile. As powerful as the magic was, you were certain some of that warmth was washing over him, fueling him the way it had fueled you. “Thank you, Delphi.”

“Just worry about keeping yourself safe,” you told him, clutching the scabbard of the kodachi, letting the cold power from it rush through your veins. When you glanced at the window, the sky was already bleeding with the first colors of the sunset. Time was so cruel. First unending, now moving far too fast. “I’ll do what I can.”

The time for being weak was past. There was nothing else to say. You followed Jason back down the hall, gave Schnitzel a quick scratch behind the ear when he came to trot along at your side. Nanashi stood at the open back door, eyes trained to the line of the woods.

“He’s waiting,” she said, voice low. Her hand rested on the hilt of a long sword buckled to a belt slung low on her hips, the scabbard a twin to the kodachi you were clutching. “Close. But far enough he hasn’t tripped the wards. Can you sense him, child?”

“I can,” you whispered back, skin prickling. A wild, dark energy, stalking you from a distance. “The wolf is at our door.”

“Nanashi, you try to hold the back door,” Jason said, voice clipped. “I’m going to get up on the roof, set up so that I can get a shot in on him once he’s out of the woods.”

Nanashi gave a sharp nod, gaze still on the horizon, bleeding reds and pinks slowly beginning to darken. Pausing to ruffle your hair and give you a strained smile, Jason passed by, turning the corner and disappearing from sight.

“He’s going to come once the moon is in the sky, isn’t he?” you asked, taking a step back.

“Yes.” Nanashi finally turned to face you, pupils dark, thin slits in her glowing red eyes. The sclera had turned black, her teeth sharper than they’d been before when she flashed you a grim smile. “Prepare yourself, child. Because I fear the form that Aamon takes may have more of an effect on your Lazarus than he will admit.”

“What… what do you mean?” you asked, glancing nervously at the tree line.

“One day, he’ll tell you about the wolves.” Nanashi tilted her head, the movement too sharp. “But trust that he will need all the help he can get from you.”

The wolves…? You wracked your brain, coming up blank. Jason had never mentioned anything about wolves before. Why would a demon taking the form of a wolf be such an issue for him? Yet another unanswered question, a frustrating blank piece in the puzzle that was Jason Todd. There was no time to fret over it, to demand a real answer from your mother.

A low howl echoed from the woods, your blood running cold.

“He’s here.” Nanashi turned back to the doors, drawing her sword. The blade flashed bright silver in the dying light, her face reflected in the surface. “Hide.”

She did not have to tell you twice. You turned and ran, Schnitzel bounding after you as you skidded down the hall. There was a loud crack, then another, shots from Jason’s rifle and an answering roar. Frantic, you dove into the room Nanashi had been sleeping in. Another gunshot, a second, a third. Something in you shifted, making you stumble. The wards, you realized, the tiny seed of Nanashi planted inside of you blaring a muted alarm as they were crossed. Just as you threw open the door of the closet, tucked yourself into a far corner, you felt the storm inside of you surge, an answer to the call of your mother’s powers surging as the demon howled.

Clutching the kodachi to your chest, you held your breath. Schnitzel curled close to you, panting and anxious as you did your best to listen to what was happening. You could hear Nanashi’s voice, Jason’s deeper one answering, the words too far away to be truly audible. Then there was an earthshattering roar, the whole cabin shaking with the force of it. You cried out, pressed your hands over your stinging ears. Your bones ached, darkness prickling along your skin as you tried desperately to contain your fear.

Aamon could smell it. You were certain of that.

“Lazarus, you have to get up,” Nanashi’s voice was closer now, echoing inside of you. “Protect your heart! It has to be you!”

The presence grew closer. Closer. _Closer._

You didn’t dare breathe, Schnitzel still and silent beside you as well. Just like the first encounter you’d had with the demons, you hid from the force approaching you in a closet. But unlike that first time, you refused to let the fear control you. Hulking footsteps approached the room, a low, rumbling growl filling the air.

You pushed open the door of the closet, ignoring the voice screaming at you in the back of your head to run and hide. Schnitzel slowly followed, keeping low to the ground, ears pressed back against his skull. Moving silently, you slipped out of the closet, pressed your back against the wall. Schnitzel remained inside, head just poking out, crouched and waiting, an answering growl rising from him. Fingers tightening around your sword, you held your breath, kept your blind side to the closet, and waited.

Long, dark claws curled around the doorway, followed by a massive furry arm. Aamon stepped into the room, his dark fur curling off of him like smoke, limbs long and muscular. A cross between a monstrous man and a wolf, long ears pricked. Slowly, terribly slowly, his head turned, mouth opening to bear long white fangs and glowing eyes landing on you. For one long, terrible movement, fear rooted you in place. Aamon looked like a werewolf straight out of a horror movie, radiating power and the top of his head brushing the ceiling. Dark blood dripped from various wounds, but did not seem to slow him at all. One of his hands was missing, a deep gash scoring one side of his face. _Nanashi._

“Oracle,” he snarled, deep voice rumbling like thunder. His eyes followed you as you stood, fingers curling around the hilt of your kodachi. “I have no quarrel with you. Not yet.”

“Yes,” you said, voice trembling. “You do.”

Letting the dark energy of the sword fuel you, you drew the blade. The storm in your heart reached a fever pitch, the curving edge absorbing nearby light. You raised the tip to point straight at his heart, head held high as you faced down a Marquis of Hell.

“I see,” he rumbled, lowering into a crouch. “Very well then. We will do this the painful way.”

It was not you who moved first. It was not Aamon, either. Schnitzel threw himself out of the closet, snarling as he closed his jaws around the bloody stump of the demon’s arm. The giant wolf let out a pained howl, sending you stumbling back against the wall. Snarling, Aamon closed his remaining, massive hand around the scruff of Schnitzel’s neck, ripping the dog off of him and tossing him away. You watched in horror as he hit the wall, a pained yelp leaving him as he curled on the floor.

It was one thing for the demon to hurt you, to hurt your mother, to hurt Jason. But hurting Schnitzel?

**Too far.**

Letting out an enraged scream, you drew back the sword and launched yourself at Aamon. The blade sliced through the air as you brought it down, dark steel carving through the demon’s stomach. Dark ichor sprayed on your skin, writhing, twisting intestines spilling from the wound. Another enraged roar, this one rattling your bones. Aamon swung, the back of his massive hand landing on your injured side, ribs cracking from the impact. It sent you flying across the room, left you lying in a gasping heap on the floor. The kodachi had fallen from your hands, laying too far away for you to grab it. Distorted visions flashed through your mind at the hot pain in your side and chest, your fingers curling and scrabbling against the hardwood floor. The demon advanced on you, ignoring the entrails that spilled from him, dragged along the floor with each lumbering step he took.

And then he stopped. Froze in place, eyes wide. As your vision cleared, blinking tears from your eyes, you saw a dark tendril wrapped around his neck, Nanashi standing in the doorway. Her eyes burned with fury, form flickering as more tendrils burst from what had been her arm, encasing the demon’s head.

“Now,” she hissed, voice making your head throb. “The kodachi. Protect your heart, Lazarus. And let the darkness be your blade.”

Taking a shallow breath that felt like fire spreading through your chest, you watched as Jason stepped around Nanashi. His eyes glowed, the rage in them a match for that of the god of darkness holding his prey for him. His right arm hung limp at his side, blood dripping from the shredded flesh. _The sacrifice._ Whimpering, you blinked back a fresh wave of tears as he bent to pick up your kodachi with his left arm. Taking a deep breath, he held the blade aloft, eyes tracing the path it would take.

“This,” he snarled, “is for my fucking dog, you asshole.”

Then, on the exhale, he swung. There was a beat, a long moment. And then Aamon’s headless body collapsed to the floor, just inches from you, dark ichor gushing over you. Nanashi let the head drop next, her arm pulsing and retracting to resemble a human limb once more. Sneering at the still-twitching body, she bent and grasped the ankles, slowly dragging it out of the room.

Schnitzel whined, limping over to where you lay, pressing his wet nose into the hollow of your throat. You almost sobbed with relief, wished you could reach up to pet him, to hold him. But your broken ribs kept you motionless, barely able to breathe, much less move.

Jason fell to his knees in front of you, face pale and breathing shallow.

“Delphi,” he whispered.

“Jason,” you cried.

There was so much blood. What remained of his arm was so covered in gore that you couldn’t even tell where the wounds ended and the flesh began. Pushing through the pain, ignoring the visions that tried to take over, you hauled yourself up, braced yourself against the wall. Reached out, let him collapse into your lap. You knew that he would survive this.

But, god, at what cost?

Nanashi returned, shrugging off her jacket and wrapping it over his wound, snatched the blanket from the bed and ripped it into long strips that she tied tightly in segments from his shoulder to his wrist. Her expression was grim when she finally looked up at you. You cradled Jason, his head resting on your stomach, eyelids fluttering as he slowly slipped out of consciousness.

“He’ll live,” Nanashi reassured you. She watched as you brushed his hair from his face with trembling, blood stained fingers, traced the scar on his jaw. “But he may lose the arm.”

“I’m so stupid,” you sobbed, ignoring the pain that flared up your side as you bent towards him, pressed your forehead to his. “I shouldn’t have run. I should have fought with him.”

“Aamon could have killed you, then. The Lazarus froze when he saw the demon’s form, and that mistake may cost him a limb. If you had been there, the demon could have ripped you open instead. A far worse punishment.” She reached out, made you raise your head so she could wipe the tears from your face. “The omamori likely was enough luck to keep him from being killed. You did what you could, sweet girl.”

“I never wanted any of this to happen to him.” You sniffled, leaned into her touch. “I… I want to keep him safe. No matter what it takes.”

Nanashi’s gaze softened, her voice quiet.

“Why is that?”

“Because.” You turned away from her, looked down at the man in your lap. Your heart lurched, fingers curling into his dark leather jacket. You would have to let him go soon, let Nanashi take him away to tend to his wounds. But for the moment, you wanted to selfishly hold onto him, heart bleeding. “Because I love him. I love him with all of my heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this chapter was a bit slower than some of the others, but there was a lot of important character interactions that had to happen. also jason baby i'm so sorry i did this to you. don't worry, he'll be okay, and so will schnitzel. i actually really like this chapter a lot, and i hope you guys will too!! not a whole lot of demon in it, but there's a reason for that. y'all will see.
> 
> sumiko belongs to [the lovely mari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmetea), who also wrote sumiko's sweet note and came up with her gifts to delphi. did i cry? yes. sumiko will a fairly important character to this fic, and i hope y'all will come to love her as much as i do.
> 
> thank y'all as always for reading. if you'd like to support me, head on over to [my kofi!!](https://ko-fi.com/difficultheart) if you drop a request in your donation message, i'll write a drabble for you over on my tumblr. you can read the requests i've gotten so far [here!](https://spidergwenn.tumblr.com/tagged/violet-writes) one of those requests, Cope, is canon and takes place between this chapter and the previous one!!
> 
> love y'all. stay safe, be kind to yourselves. i'll see you in the next chapter.


	9. Part Eight: The Hierophant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: self-hatred, dehumanization, gore, violence, Delphi being reckless, self-sacrificing, and oblivious in general, hallucinations, body horror

Love, to you, had always been an abstract concept. You knew that it existed, of course. Had seen it in the way couples looked at each other on the street, the way a mother would hold her child in the grocery store, the way friends would lean against each other and laugh in unison when they saw a funny figurine at the thrift store. You read about it in your romance paperbacks, too, watched it portrayed in movies and TV shows.

But none of that could have prepared you for actually feeling love yourself.

How long you had been in love, you weren’t certain. You had no real frame of reference, no other relationships, romantic or platonic, to look back on. Perhaps it had been after he gave you your name. Perhaps it had been when he’d agreed to keep you company while you slept. Or perhaps it had been all the way back when he’d taken you to that Greek bakery and taken his first step into trying to help you step out of the shell you’d built around yourself. All you knew was that you did love him. The moment your heart had broken and cracked and bled at the sight of his injuries, the moment you’d held him and known that you would do anything to keep him safe, there was no doubt in your mind that what you felt was love.

And it terrified you. More than Azrael rapidly closing in on you. More than the demons that were still lurking in the shadows. Because you had faced both of those before, had new weapons and tools to help you solve those problems. But you had no idea how to deal with the feelings that you had acknowledged.

Nanashi would not be much help, you thought. Although she was married and although she obviously loved her wife with an intensity that was almost frightening, she didn’t know you. At least, not well enough to give you any real advice on the situation. She only had one long conversation and a few days’ worth of interactions to go off of, and the idea of you being in love seemed to make her vaguely uncomfortable in general. After she’d done her best to treat Jason’s arm, giving him a cocktail of painkillers and Benadryl to keep him asleep and hoping that after some rest he’d heal enough for her to get a better idea of whether the arm could be saved, she’d sat you down, ostensibly to treat your broken ribs but more so to talk to you about your confession.

“Well,” she sighed, prodding at your side while you blinked back tears and bit your lip to keep from crying out in pain, “the good news is it doesn’t seem like your lung is punctured. Best as I can tell just from poking around, you’ve got about three broken ribs, but more are probably bruised or have microfractures.”

“What’s the bad news?” you asked, voice soft as each breath still sent shooting pain through your chest.

“The bad news is that they’re going to take time to heal. All I can really do to help treat them is to have you ice them as much as possible.” Sitting back and lowering your shirt, she rubbed at her temples. “I could bind them to try to set them, but that could keep you from breathing as deeply as you need to and lead to pneumonia. So, you’ll have to be sharing painkillers with the Lazarus for a while.”

“I’ll be fine,” you wheezed, watching her get up to retrieve ice packs from the freezer, wrapping them in a dishtowel. “He needs them more than I do. I… I can take the pain.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean that you should.” Nanashi sighed, handing the wrapped ice packs to you. “I suspect that when he wakes up, he’ll say the same thing.”

“Probably.” Wincing, you pushed the ice packs up under your shirt, pressing them against the dark bruising on your ribs. “But I don’t want to keep being a burden. While I find out a way to help him keep his arm, I just… I want him to be as close to okay as he can be.”

Letting out a soft hum, Nanashi sat back down across from you, drumming her fingers against the dining table. After a moment, she rested her cheek in her palm, watching you with open curiosity.

“You know,” she said, voice soft, cautious, “just because you are injured, or there’s certain things you can’t do, doesn’t mean that you’re a burden. You can’t be expected to be able to do everything, sweet thing. Your presence alone is an incredible asset to him, not to mention that many of your prophecies have likely saved his life.”

“I don’t know about that,” you mumbled, looking away from her. “They’ve been so… vague. If I knew that it was his arm he’d have to sacrifice, then maybe—”

“What has happened has happened,” she interrupted. “We have to accept what has happened and look forward to try to repair what has been damaged. Having regrets will only weigh down your heart. Your Lazarus faced down Aamon with commendable courage and chose to make his sacrifice in order to protect his heart. Even if the worst comes to pass and we aren’t able to save the limb, I don’t think he’ll regret making that decision. He doesn’t seem the type.”

Despite the short time that she’d known him, Nanashi seemed to have an… eerie amount of knowledge when it came to Jason. You knew that she wasn’t wrong in her assessment of him, knew that he truly wouldn’t regret what had happened. But the panicked little voice in the back of your head still screamed that it was your fault. That if he did lose his arm, it was because of you. Because you _weren’t enough._ Because you were still weak and scared and pathetic. Blinking back a fresh wave of tears, you looked back up at your mother.

Your mother, still a stranger, but seemingly doing her best. The family you’d dreamed of for so long. Shoving down a cold rush of fear, you took a deep breath and laid your heart bare for her to see.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, grip tightening on the ice packs numbing your skin.

“What are you scared of?” she asked, sharp eyes focused on you. Only on you, brow furrowed at your words.

“I’m scared of my feelings,” you admitted. Felt quiet shame at even voicing it again, at your inability to hide it away. “I’m scared of what… what might happen because of them.”

The cold look on Nanashi’s face flickered, melting away into something more vulnerable. She reached for you, gently rested her hand over the one that you’d clenched into a white-knuckled grip in your lap.

“Feelings like those… they’re scary for everyone,” she said, cold fingers gently prying your fist open so that she could lace her fingers with your own. A quiet gesture of support and comfort that had a fresh wave of tears welling in your eyes. “Especially when they’re feelings that you don’t understand, ones you’ve never felt before. When I first fell in love, I was afraid, too. It’s an all-consuming feeling, once you’re able to recognize it. But it’s beautiful, too.”

“Maybe… maybe for other people.” You had to concede that point, as you did, in fact, love romance novels which revolved around the entire concept of love being transcendent. “But I don’t… I’m still not sure if I’m worthy of it. And I don’t want to burden Jason with it, either. He has so many other things to worry about, and I’m just happy being with him, even if it is just as a friend.”

“None of that is true,” Nanashi snapped, the sudden swell of her fury making you flinch. She squeezed your hand, leaned closer to you and stared at you until you finally met her gaze again. “The Order lied to you. Your entire life, sweet girl. They took the lie of you being unworthy and they buried it as deep inside of you as they could. Not because there was even a shred of truth to it, but because it kept you from questioning them. But it’s not true. You are just as worthy of love as any other being walking this earth. If I can find love, if I can keep it as selfishly close as I have, you deserve it, too.”

“But—”

“You’ve sold yourself on the poison of being happy with the bare minimum. Of simply surviving without wanting anything else.” Leaning further towards you, until her face was only a breath away from your own, she let go of your hand to press her palm over your heart. “I’ve only known your heart for a few days, child. But it is so worthy of everything good in this world and more. It’s a good heart, and it’s kind, even if it is a bit beaten and battered. Anyone you love is truly, deeply blessed. While I personally find the Lazarus… wanting, if you love him, then I will acknowledge those feelings. As your mother, in every aspect of the word.”

There was no stopping the tears. You felt silly, stupid, like a child, but you simply couldn’t stop yourself from sobbing, leaning forward so that Nanashi could pull you into an awkward hug. Although she was stiff, careful not to apply pressure to your injured ribs, you still found comfort in the way her fingers ran through your hair, the way she urged you to rest your head on her shoulder, cheek pressed against yours.

“I’m sorry,” you blubbered. “I don’t know why I’ve been crying so much.”

“Hush,” she whispered, gently massaging your scalp with her fingertips. “There’s nothing shameful about crying. You’re allowed to express your feelings, child. I will do my best to comfort you when you need it.”

Sniffling, you pulled out of her embrace, let her cradle your face in her hands and wipe away your tears. When she was done, Nanashi gave your cheek a gentle pat.

“Do you feel better?” she asked.

“… A little,” you admitted. It wasn’t much, but her words… there was truth to them, as hard as they were to swallow. “Thank you, Nanashi.”

“You’re very welcome.” Her smile was soft, barely a curl of her lips, but still holding more kindness than you’d seen from her before. “Now, go get some rest. I am going to treat the dog as well, as best as I can. There is still a glass of water and some painkillers in the room where the Lazarus is sleeping. Take one and try not to agitate your ribs.”

With a small nod, you stood, readjusting your grip on the ice pack as you slowly shuffled out of the dining room. Schnitzel had laid down in the doorway to the bedroom, his head rising and tail giving a small wag when he saw you. As carefully as you could, you bent to pet him, gently ushering him down the hall and towards Nanashi. Although he still walked with a bit of a limp, he didn’t seem to be in any dire pain. Basking in that small relief, you stepped into the room, closing the door behind you with a quiet click.

Jason did not stir, sleeping deeply and more peacefully than you had seen before. There was no furrow to his brow, no tossing and turning, no quiet, unintelligible muttering in his sleep. He was just… still. Quiet. It made you uneasy, this sudden vulnerability setting you on edge. Floorboards silent under your bare feet, you pulled the chair that Nanashi had sat in while she tended to him closer to the bed, curled up in it. It was not comfortable, but you did not want to risk disturbing Jason. Swallowing one of the painkillers and sipping at the glass of water, you settled back down.

The blankets had been pulled up to his chest, his bandaged arm resting over his stomach. Your eyes traced the bare lines of his shoulders, broad and strong. His eyelashes fluttered, the only indication of a dream, the barest movement. Even in sleep, his features were sharp, the line of his jaw hidden behind thick stubble. Hesitant, cautious, you reached out, brushing shaggy, wavy hair out of his face with the lightest touch you could. When he did not stir, you traced the line of his jaw, fingertips resting on the scar there before they trailed down to the faint, pale scar on his neck. His pulse was slow but steady beneath your fingers, the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each breath a reminder that he would live. Death would not take him so easily, you knew.

But that did not banish the cold, hard lump of guilt that settled in the pit of your stomach at the sight of his bandaged arm. The wounds had been extensive and terrible. It was a miracle that Aamon hadn’t torn his arm off, a testament to the subtle ways the Lazarus Pit had enhanced his physique. Afraid to touch the bandages, afraid that even the lightest touch would cause him pain, you let your palm rest over his heart instead. A precious thing, even if he pretended that it wasn’t. A heart worth protecting, filled with good even if he couldn’t see it himself.

Pulling away, you settled back into the chair again, ignored the discomfort it caused you. Still pressing your ice pack against your ribs, you began your silent vigil at Jason’s bedside.

It was, after all, past time that you returned the favor of watching over him while he slept. The night would be long, and you knew that exhaustion would eventually drag you into the embrace of sleep. But until then, until you could no longer fight it, you would watch over him and hope that it would, somehow, bring him some comfort, even in his dreams.

\---

Dr. Abigail Arcane was not what you had expected. At least, not from the way that Nanashi had described her to you. Leaning against the front door of her ranch house, her face was pinched with annoyance as Nanashi approached her, you and Jason hanging back for the moment. Dark hair streaked through with grey and pulled back in a loose bun, she looked younger than you’d though she’d be. Her dark eyes narrowed as your mother stopped in front of her, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Hello, Nana,” she said, her thick Cajun accent taking you by surprise. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Yeah, well.” Nanashi gave a casual shrug, waving away the pinched anger in the other woman’s voice. “Things were complicated.”

“Complicated.” Dr. Arcane’s voice was flat as she stood straighter, several inches taller than your mother but seeming somehow even larger in her annoyance. “You ignored my calls and texts after you just up and left, Nana. You can’t just _run off_ after—”

“I know, I know.” Cutting her off, Nanashi glanced back at you. “Look, Abby. I know that you have no reason to listen to what I have to say. But I have people who need your help.”

“Oh,” she snapped, looking offended. “So after five years of silence, you just drive all the way here to Wyoming and expect me to help you out?”

“Not me.” Nanashi sighed, motioning for you to come closer.

Exchanging a nervous look with Jason, you stepped forward as he placed a hand on your back, a quiet gesture of support. When the doctor’s gaze flickered over to you, you couldn’t help but flinch under the force of her anger. Jason winced as well, boots scuffing at the sparse layer of snow on the ground.

“Who are they?” she questioned.

“My daughter,” Nanashi said, voice low. “And her… friend, Jason Todd.”

In an instant, the anger on Dr. Arcane’s face transformed into shock. Dark eyes wide, she stepped out of the doorway and closer to you. You swallowed a lump in your throat, shuffling closer to Jason as she looked you over.

“You… you have a daughter,” Dr. Arcane said, a bit breathless. “And you…” She turned to Jason, looking up at him with a frown. “Jason Todd died years ago.”

“I got better,” he mumbled, looking just as uncomfortable as you.

“I’m really sorry if our being here upsets you,” you said, fumbling over your words. “But Jason’s badly injured, and we were hoping that you and your husband could help us.”

“Me _and_ my husband.” Quirking an eyebrow, she let out a low chuckle. “Has your mother told you anything about Alec?”

“Only that he might be able to help, if you couldn’t,” you admitted, tugging at the end of your braid nervously. “You… you are a doctor, right?”

“An epidemiologist,” she sighed. “But I’m still a better option for medical treatment than Nanashi is. Although you must be pretty desperate if she brought you here.”

“I am,” you told her.

Jason shifted uncomfortably, looking away from Dr. Arcane. He’d been reluctant to go along with Nanashi’s plan, insisting that he would be fine. But you knew that he wouldn’t be. Not if he didn’t get proper medical treatment. Dr. Arcane looked at you then, really looked at you, head tipping to the side.

“Well…” She looked between you and Jason for a moment before heaving a sigh. “Come inside. The dog’s welcome, too.”

Schnitzel bounded past you, movements only hindered by the bandages around his front leg as he followed the doctor inside. Relieved, you followed her as well, Nanashi and Jason a bit more reluctant to step into the house. It was small, cozy, heated by a crackling fire place. Dr. Arcane motioned for the three of you to sit on the sofa, taking a seat on the coffee table in front of you herself.

“I’m guessing the arm is the problem,” she said, motioning to the sling Jason wore. “How bad?”

“Limited mobility,” Nanashi answered for him, crossing her legs primly. “I’m concerned about serious nerve damage and tendons being severed.”

Dr. Arcane let out a hum, eyes narrowed. Jason sank further into the couch, ears flushed. You placed a hand on his knee, hoping it would be encouraging. The doctor leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees.

“Let me have a look at it,” she said. “I won’t really know what I’m working with unless I can get eyes and hands on it.”

Helping Jason out of his jacket and unbuttoning the flannel shirt he’d put on, Dr. Arcane sat on the very edge of the coffee table as he shrugged out of the shirt and let you take it, along with his sling. She unwound the bandages that covered his arm, revealing the dozens of stitches that looked to be the only thing keeping the flesh together, skin still inflamed and bruised from the trauma. The pinch to her brow was the only indication she gave of concern as she looked over the injuries. Patiently and meticulously, she pressed on his fingers and hand, seeing if he could feel the pressure at all. She guided him to try to move each individual finger, then make a fist, then move his wrist, moving up to his shoulder. The atmosphere grew colder and grimmer as Jason failed to respond to most of the orders, expression stoic despite his inability to move the majority of the limb.

“Pretty sure we’re looking at major nerve damage to the entirety of the limb,” Dr. Arcane sighed, turning his arm so that she could get a full look at the injuries. “Deep tissue damage, severed tendons… No fractures, strangely enough. But I can’t promise full recovery. I don’t have much surgical equipment here, and while the nerves will likely grow back, there’s a good chance you won’t ever get full mobility back. And as many severed arteries and veins as there are…” She shook her head, leaning back and looking grim. “Amputation so that you can get a fully functional replacement limb might be a better option for you.”

“I thought that might be the case,” Nanashi said.

“What did you do,” the doctor asked, “fight a bear?”

“Something like that,” Jason sighed.

Despite the fact that he had just been told he would lose his limb, he looked… calm. Resigned. The polar opposite to your own horror, your eyes wide as Dr. Arcane stood to retrieve fresh bandages for him. He was going to _lose an arm_ , but they all looked casual about the fact. Like there was nothing else they could do about it. But you refused. You refused to let him lose his arm because of your failure. Hands curling into fists in your lap, you wracked your brain, trying to find some other solution. Some way to save him, to let him keep his arm. It hit you as Dr. Arcane was applying more antibiotic ointment to the wounds.

“A Lazarus Pit,” you said, sitting up straight. “A Lazarus Pit restored you all those years ago, right? If we found one, would it be able to heal his arm?”

All three of them stared at you, the doctor in confusion, Jason with a looked of muted horror, and Nanashi with a quiet apprehension. Setting aside the tin of ointment, Dr. Arcane let out a thoughtful hum, wiping off her hands with a rag before she picked up a roll of bandages.

“I’m not well versed in the properties of the Lazarus Pits,” she said, voice even. “But if it’s worked before, it may well work again.”

“They are restorative…” Nanashi frowned, leaning back and crossing her arms. “I’m not aware of any that are nearby that haven’t been sealed up or aren’t heavily guarded, though.”

“It’s not an option,” Jason said, shaking his head. “The al-Ghuls guard every known pit. You can’t just… sneak in and dip me into one without them noticing.”

“What if I took a bit of the waters, then?” you asked, desperate. “Just enough to mix in a bath for you.”

“Delphi—”

“Is Alec here?” Nanashi asked, cutting off Jason’s argument.

Dr. Arcane was silent for a long moment, waiting until she’d finished bandaging Jason before she responded.

“You know that he’s always here and not here, Nana.” Her voice was low, expression closed off. “I can’t promise that he’ll come if your daughter needs him. Especially since you’re involved. You _know_ that he hates you.”

“He’ll come.” Your mother looked certain, lips curling into a smirk. “I know he will.”

Dr. Arcane did not look at all convinced. You were terribly confused, looking between the two women as Jason slowly put his shirt back on.

“Can… can your husband help me?” you asked the doctor, unable to quell the flutter of hope you felt.

“He… he might be able to.” She looked uncertain, uncomfortable at him even being brought up. “But… well, he isn’t exactly easy to understand. He’s… he does what he thinks is best, even if his logic isn’t something that a normal person could understand.”

Terribly vague and a bit ominous. Your skin crawled, scars flaring for a moment. Whoever Alec was, you suspected that he wasn’t as ordinary as his wife. There yet not there, working on a logic that others were unable to comprehend. Rubbing at your scars, you wondered what he was. Why Nanashi had remained silent on that front, withholding information from you. Even Dr. Arcane didn’t seem willing to further expand on that topic.

“Would you also mind looking at the child’s ribs?” Nanashi asked. “A few of them are broken, but you may be able to think of a better treatment for them than I have.”

Dr. Arcane’s lips thinned into a frown.

“You know that I don’t work for free,” she said.

“You know that I have the money to pay for your services.” Nanashi grinned, flashing her sharp teeth. “And if you want me to owe you a favor for each of the children, I’ll offer that as payment, too. Guaranteed. No backsies.”

After a moment of tense silence, Dr. Arcane sighed. Standing up, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

“Fine. But only because I know how much a favor from you is worth,” the doctor snapped. When she turned back to you, her expression softened. “Let’s come back to my actual office, okay? We need to get a closer look at those ribs.”

You hesitated, glancing at Jason. You didn’t want to leave him, especially not alone with your mother. More than that, you were nervous, uncomfortable at the idea of being alone with a stranger. But he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his smile strained.

“You need to take care of yourself too,” he said, voice low. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He let go of your hand, motioning for you to stand. “Let the doctor treat you, too.”

Although you were still nervous, still uncertain, you gave a small nod and stood. Your hand felt cold without his fingers laced with your own, heart aching when he turned away from you. It was for the best, you knew. If you didn’t get proper medical care, you would only be more of a burden than you already were. Slowly following the doctor further into the house, you glanced back over your shoulder one last time, the line of Jason’s shoulders slumped.

Heart aching and feeling helpless, you turned the corner and slipped out of sight.

\---

Jason sat in the back of his truck, scrolling through the texts he’d gotten and deleting them one by one. It was something he’d grown used to, over the past year. No matter how many times he changed his number, Dick always seemed to get hold of it, sharing it (inevitably) with the rest of the family. Not even his silence, his obvious attempts to push them away, seemed to take. Tim had been all too happy to stop talking to him, old animosity coming out to play once more. Damian… Damian still tried, if only for his attachment to Jason, a reminder of his childhood with his mother. Cass was still out of contact, embedded in Hong Kong. Dick was too stupid and too stubborn to let it go, constantly spamming him with texts and voicemails about how they all forgave him. How he didn’t need to keep doing this, to stop punishing himself.

But he still had a long way to go before he earned any kind of forgiveness.

Deleting the last text he’d gotten from Dick, a simple ‘when are you coming home?’, he tossed the phone aside and let his head fall back against the back window of the truck. Some part of him recognized that he should be more upset at the prospect of losing his arm, but it also seemed an apt punishment.

Once again, he’d frozen. And because of it, Delphi and Schnitzel had gotten hurt.

“Fuck.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he ran his hand through his hair, frustration welling up hot and smothering in his chest.

Delphi blamed herself for his injuries. Even though it wasn’t her fault, even though he had never expected her to know that it would happen, she had carried that blame heavily on her shoulders. It killed him, knowing that he was the source of her guilt. That he had failed, once more, in trying to keep her happy and protecting her from any further pain. He wanted to tell her that he wasn’t worth it, that he didn’t want her to potentially place herself in danger _yet again_ for his sake. If he lost the arm, he lost the arm. He had several contacts who could hook him up with a good replacement, and he didn’t regret the potential loss.

But he also knew the look in her eyes. No matter how much he argued, no matter how hard he tried, she wouldn’t back down. So, he simply hadn’t bothered. It wasn’t worth the additional emotional labor, not for her or for him. She was dealing with enough already. Of course, that didn’t stop him from being upset about it, from feeling dread at the idea of her even going _near_ a Lazarus Pit.

Opening his eyes, he stared up at the expanse of stars above him, clear and bright so far away from any cities. Wyoming was beautiful but desolate, still carried a wildness to it that so many other places had lost. The mountains loomed close to Arcane’s little ranch house, the evergreen forest that surrounded the place dark and still dusted with snow. It should have been peaceful, the quiet. But it only set him on edge. Somewhere out there, Alec Holland lurked, no doubt quietly absorbing everything that they said and did, coming to his own conclusions. Yet another thing for him to worry about, uncertain of what the Swamp Thing would think of both him and of Delphi.

There was clearly a history between Holland, Dr. Arcane, and Nanashi; one that he was fairly certain would not work immediately in Delphi’s favor.

The soft crunch of snow beneath careful footsteps made him sit up, peering around the side of the truck to find Delphi approaching. She’d wrapped a thick, woven blanket around herself, Schnitzel limping cheerfully along next to her. When she spotted him, she smiled, or at least tried to. There was still an edge of hesitance to the expression, a distance to her eyes as she stopped in front of him.

“Hi,” she breathed.

“Hey,” he whispered back, unable to bite back a smile.

“Can… Can I join you? I brought another blanket for you.”

After giving her a small nod, Delphi brightened noticeably. Wincing as she climbed into the back of the truck, she settled down next to him, pulling out a folded blanket and handing it over to him. As she settled in next to him, he fought the urge to reach out for her, instead letting her help him drape the blanket over his shoulders, right arm still mostly numb and rendered immobile by a sling. Schnitzel hopped up with them as well, struggling for a moment with his bandaged leg before he finally succeeded, curling up on the other side of Delphi and plopping his head onto her lap.

“Needed a break?” he asked.

“Mm.” She sighed, gathering the blanket closer around her and letting one hand poke out to stroke Schnitzel’s fur. Her shoulder brushed against his, making his traitorous little heart lurch at the touch. “Dr. Arcane and Nanashi started arguing. I… I didn’t want to listen to it any longer.”

“Can’t blame you.” Jason frowned, glancing down at her. While Nanashi did seem to have Delphi’s best interests in mind, her tendency to pick fights with the people around her was… worrying, to say the least. Gently nudging her shoulder with his, he tried to shift the conversation. “Did you end up finishing A Wizard of Earthsea?”

Immediately, her expression shifted. There was no stopping the flood of warmth in his chest as she smiled, wiggling a bit in her excitement.

“I did!” she chirped, leaning into him just a bit. Not enough to put pressure on her ribs, but enough to share a bit of warmth. Enough for him to casually lean his head towards hers. “It was so much fun. I really like the idea of true names, too. And the dragons! I love the dragons.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Jason chuckled. “I thought you would.”

“I need to pick up the other books now,” Delphi sighed. Resting her head on his shoulder, she closed her eyes, shifting closer to him. “Are they all good?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Jason hesitated for a moment before he rested his head against hers. Little moments of affection, snippets of intimacy to cling to selfishly. “They were my favorite books when I was a kid. When we head back towards Gotham, we can stop in a bookstore to see if they have the rest.”

As much as he missed Gotham, as much as he missed his shitty apartment and his books and his own bed, he didn’t want to go back. Not yet. Jason wanted to spend just a little more time on the road, a little more time with Delphi. Once they got back home… there was no guarantee that he would see her again. While he hoped that she would stay in touch, now that Nanashi had found her, there was a chance that she’d move on. Move past him and all the shit he’d put her through and finally live a good, fulfilling life. It was what she deserved. If he was a good person, he would simply accept that him being part of her life was a recipe for disaster. If he was a good person, he would have kept a careful distance from her, kept her out of his life.

But Jason Todd wasn’t a good person. And simply considering a future without her somewhere in it was painful. Even if it was only as a friend, someone to call up every once in a while, that would be fine. As much as he wanted more, he could settle for less. Settle for friendship, no matter how much it hurt.

“You know that I’m not going to leave you, right?” she asked, voice soft.

He stiffened, glancing down at her. Delphi pulled away enough to face him properly, her leg brushing against his.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m not going to leave you,” she repeated, voice firmer. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for… something. He wasn’t sure what, but there was a heat to her gaze that he hadn’t seen before. More than just determination. Something… different. Stronger. “Not until the end of your journey. And even after. You’re… I…”

She hesitated. Jason watched her quietly, the frantic rhythm of his heart picking up in speed as her face flushed. Shifting nervously, she glanced away from him.

“You’re…” She struggled for another long moment, chewing at her bottom lip before she finally glanced back up at him. “You’re an important person to me. I don’t want to leave you.”

There was an unspoken weight to her words, a meaning hidden just behind the surface of them. Something that had hope unfurling in his chest as he reached out for her, letting the blanket drop away so that he could brush her hair away from her face. Delphi stared at him, wide eyed, her skin flushed when he brushed his thumb over her cheekbone.

It would be so easy to just lean in. To close the gap, to just _give in._

“Delphi,” he whispered, terrified of shattering the atmosphere, shattering the silent tension in the air. “I…”

“Children!” Nanashi’s voice shattered the moment, yelling from the front door of the ranch house. “Come inside. It’s getting late.”

Oh, she had done that on purpose. Jason was _certain_ of it. Doing his best to hide his frustration, he pulled away from Delphi, let her stand up and gently usher Schnitzel off the truck. Shrugging off his blanket and hopping out of the truck bed, he shuffled along behind Delphi, who was staring rigidly at her feet, ears visibly flushed as she passed her mother and scurried into the house. When Jason shot Nanashi an annoyed glare, blanket slung over his shoulder, she did not answer it with a sly grin or a smug smirk. Instead she looked… troubled. Before he could enter the house, she placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“We need to talk,” she told him, voice low so that the doctor and her daughter wouldn’t hear. “Tomorrow. Get some rest first.”

Something was wrong. He frowned, considered pressing her further, but she was already moving away from him, heading inside the house. Jason lingered in the doorway for a moment, glancing out towards the mountains. The quiet, heavy feeling of being watched hung over his head once more. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside and closed the door.

Whatever it was, whatever had Nanashi worried, whatever was waiting out there, could wait for the morning.

He had other things to think about, anyways.

\---

Nanashi woke the child at the crack of dawn, glad that she’d agreed to sleep in her own separate room. After the initial moment of panic, she blinked blearily up at her, hair a tangled mess and wincing as she slowly sat up with Nanashi’s help.

“I’m sorry for waking you up so early,” Nanashi told her, helping her out of bed and shoving clothes at her. “But we need to get an early start. Get changed and brush your hair. I will have coffee waiting for you.”

Waiting until the child had given her a garbled response and started to step out of her nightgown, Nanashi left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Abby was still asleep, as well as the Lazarus, and she preferred it that way. The less people who knew about her plans, the better. She wasn’t really in the mood to deal with _two_ people pissed off at her.

By the time the child had shuffled into the kitchen, still looking bleary but at least clothed and with her hair braided, the coffee was ready. The dog trotted into the kitchen as well, whining until both of them pet him, then quite happily laying down in the middle of the floor. Frowning at the new massive, furry obstacle, Nanashi stepped over the dog and handed the child a cup of coffee, motioning for her to follow her. Pausing just long enough to grab a blanket off the back of a chair for the child, she led her out to the back porch and sat down in one of the rocking chairs.

“Sit,” she said, pointing to the chair next to her own. “We have many things to do today.”

Once the girl was settled, blanket draped around her shoulders and sipping at her coffee, Nanashi pulled out her phone. Although she was still generally untrusting and far from fond of technology and social media in general, she’d come to appreciate FaceTime. When simply hearing Sumiko’s voice wasn’t enough, she could now at least see her, even if it was only through a small screen and rendered by a phone camera. It still didn’t fill the hole in her heart, but it at least helped soothe the pain of missing her wife a bit. Hoping that it was a weekend morning that Sumiko was taking off, she initiated a call, waiting patiently as it rang.

“Nana!” Sumiko cried when she picked up, grinning into the camera. “I didn’t know you were going to call me this early.”

“I’m sorry, Sumi.” She wasn’t at all sorry, warmth filling her at the sight of her wife’s sleepy smile, pale hair splayed across her pillows like a halo. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“I miss you too,” she whined, pouting. “I miss having you wake me up in the morning with—”

“The child is here,” Nanashi quickly cut in, even though she _really_ wanted to hear the rest of what Sumi had to say.

“Oh!” Sumi’s expression brightened, the camera shifting as she sat up. “Can… Can I see her…?”

Nanashi looked over at the child. She had sat a little straighter in her chair, glancing curiously at the phone and clutching at her mug.

“Well?” she asked the child. “Is that okay, sweet girl?”

There was a small moment of hesitation on the child’s part, her eyes straying to the phone, while Sumi seemed to vibrate with excitement. Finally, she gave a small nod, getting up from her chair and carefully shuffling closer to Nanashi. She peeked over her shoulder at the phone, eyes wide as she and Sumiko stared at one another.

“Oh…” Sumiko’s free hand pressed over her mouth, eyes visibly welling with tears. “Oh, Nana. Nana, our baby…”

“Hello…” the child murmured, turning suddenly shy and ducking further behind Nanashi.

“She looks like both of us, doesn’t she?” Nanashi asked, chest swelling with pride.

“She does!” Sumi gushed, face pressing closer to the camera, even though they both knew that would do nothing to get her closer to seeing the child. “Oh, hello. Hello, sweet baby. Oh, it’s so wonderful to finally see you and talk to you!”

“Th-thank you,” the child stammered, face flushed when Nanashi glanced back at her. “And, um… thank you for the gifts. I really like them a lot…”

“Your omamori has already been quite useful,” Nanashi added, lips curling into a fond grin.

Sumiko beamed, pride and love shining through in her smile. It only made the ache worse, even though she was also glad beyond words to get even a glimpse of her wife’s face.

“By the way,” Nanashi added. “Is Momo nearby?”

“I think so,” Sumiko said, still grinning fondly. “Why?”

“The child likes cats. I thought she would like to see Momo.”

Perking up behind her, Nanashi’s smile grew as the child leaned closer to the phone as Sumiko set it down, clicking her tongue in the background. Moments later she appeared again, spoiled, fluffy cat Momo in her arms. Letting out a soft gasp, the girl leaned closer, delight shining in her eyes.

“This is Momo,” Sumiko said, the cat in question sniffing at the phone and taking up a good portion of the camera.

“So cute…” the child mumbled, her chin resting on Nanashi’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I’m sure that Momo will be happy to have yet another person doting on him,” Nanashi chuckled.

“Oh, he’ll be very happy,” Sumiko laughed, letting the cat go. Her smile turned into a frown, sighing softly. “I’m afraid I have to go. I’m getting a call from work.”

“That’s fine, take care of what you need to, baby.” Nanashi turned her attention fully back to Sumiko, hiding her disappointment. “I’ll call you later tonight?”

“Sounds good. Tell Abby and Alec that I say hi,” Sumi sighed.

“I’ll let Abby know.”

Blowing a kiss to her, Sumiko ended the call, leaving Nanashi and the child to stare at a blank, dark screen. The girl slowly returned to the chair, although her mood seemed to be brighter as she picked her coffee back up. She turned to watch the sun rise, banishing the last dregs of night with broad strokes of soft pinks and oranges.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Nanashi simply smiled, taking a sip of her own coffee and turning to watch the sunset as well. For what she was doubtless going to have to see and experience, a bit of hope, something to look forward to, would absolutely help.

“You’re welcome,” she said, finishing her coffee and setting the mug aside. “Now, finish your coffee. We have work to do.”

\---

Sitting in a small clearing within the evergreen woods behind the ranch house, you watched Nanashi as she pulled the glove off of her left hand, slick shadows oozing like oil. Eyes narrowed, she drew first a large circle, then placed symbols along the edge, lines crossing in the middle of it in an intricate design that seemed both familiar and strange at once. Once she was done drawing the oily lines, she stepped outside of the circle, holding her hand out to you.

“I will need a few strands of your hair and a drop of blood from you,” she said.

“Why…?” you asked, nervous, uncertain of what was happening.

“Because,” she told you with a sly grin, “I’m going to give you a protector. A companion. Now, come here.”

Despite how vague she was being, you couldn’t help but feel a bit curious. Scooting closer, you held still as her forefinger curved into a long, sharp claw, slicing through the end of your braid, her other hand catching the falling strands. After she had scattered them in the middle of the circle, she took your hand, pressing the very tip of the claw into your palm. Not enough to hurt, but drawing a small bead of blood. Skin prickling, you held your hand over the bundle of hair, watching as the blood slowly dripped down, into the dead grass and snow.

Pulling back, you let Nanashi wrap a handkerchief around your palm. Then she turned back to the circle, closing her eyes and pressing her fingers against the very edge of it. The hissing words that left her lips were in a strange language, a chorus that made your head ache, pressure building in your temples. You had to close your eyes, flinching away from her as her voice grew louder, the trees rustling with a sudden gust of wind. But just as soon as she had started, she fell silent, the wind dying down and the crawling in your skin slowly, slowly fading away.

You opened your eyes. Nanashi reached into the circle, plucking up the little shadowy bundle in the middle of it. Right before your eyes, it shifted, stretching and changing until you were looking at a small, fluffy black kitten. Big blue eyes stared back at you, the strange kitten letting out a plaintive little chirp.

“Oh…” Your chest swelled as Nanashi handed the little thing over to you, its fur soft and downy as you carefully cradled it in your arms. “It’s… so cute…”

“It is still young,” she told you, watching as you gently stroked the kitten’s fur, squeezed its little paws gently and let it lick at your fingers. “But it will grow as your bond to it does. A familiar. Bound to your soul, it will protect you when I or the Lazarus cannot.”

“A familiar…” You looked up at her, feeling a tiny pull as the kitten blinked up at you, forked tail wrapping around your wrist.

“Name it,” she said, “and it will respond to you.”

Taking a deep breath, you stared into those big blue eyes. There was only one name that came to mind, one that you felt fit it. Felt her.

“Yarrow.” You smiled as the kitten began to purr, nuzzling her little head against your fingers. “Her name is Yarrow.”

“Yarrow it is.” Nanashi helped you to your feet, waving her hand over the circle. It melted into the dirt, taking your blood and hair with it, until the dirt and snow was all that was left, looking untouched. “Now, you must listen closely to me, child. Wander as far as you can into the forest. There is a trace of you planted in it now, as well as a trace of me. Find the largest tree that you can and sit at the foot of it. Alec will find you. Don’t be afraid of him. Although he hates me, he will see your heart. Tell him nothing but the truth.”

“What?” you asked, holding the kitten closer, letting her crawl onto your shoulder. “You… you aren’t going with me?”

“I can’t, unfortunately.” She sighed, giving a small shake of her head. “He holds a grudge, and I’d rather not be killed. So you’ll have to do this yourself. But I believe in you, little one. I believe in your bravery. And no harm will come to you. Not in this forest, and not with your familiar with you.”

You looked into the forest, felt something deep in the heart of it. Watching. Waiting. Fear sat cold and heavy in your gut, your ribs still stinging. A reminder of your own fragility. For as strong as your mother was, as strong as the little kitten on your shoulder would be as it grew, you were still weak. Imperfect. But you had to be more. Had to set it all aside, if it meant undoing what had been done to Jason, making him whole again. Even if it meant wandering into a strange place and facing down whoever (or whatever) Alec Holland was.

“Okay.” You gave a small nod, gathering what little courage you could find. “Okay.”

Smile turning fond once more, Nanashi took off her scarf, wrapping it around your neck and pulling up your hood. The familiar nuzzled closer to you, hidden under the shadows of the hood as Nanashi zipped up your jacket.

“That’s my girl.” The fondness in her voice gave you another boost of courage. She gently patted your cheek, stepping back. “Now go. Do what must be done.”

Taking another deep breath, the action making your ribs ache and the pain centering you, you turned and strode deeper into the forest. Nanashi’s presence vanished, overwhelmed by something… else. Something stranger, a presence that surrounded you on all sides. Whatever Alec Holland was, it clearly was not human. The familiar continued to purr, a warm, comforting presence on your shoulder, nuzzling against you when the crack of a branch beneath your foot or the rustle of leaves frightened you. Time stretched as you walked, the sun barely visible through the thick vegetation. If it weren’t for the snow on the ground and the fog of your breath, the lush greenness of the forest would have made you think it was late spring or early summer.

Shivering, you stopped to take a break, short of breath and the pain in your side slowly overwhelming you. This deep into strange land, you couldn’t let it get worse, couldn’t risk a vision taking over and leaving you defenseless. Spotting the hollow of a large willow tree, you brushed away the snow and sat down, leaning back against the trunk. Your familiar climbed down from your shoulder to curl up on your chest, still purring, the vibrations easing the pain in your side ever so slightly. Gently petting her little head, it took you a moment to realize that you were being watched. You stiffened, looking up and meeting a pair of glowing eyes in the shadows of the trees, molten red and sending a chill down your spine.

The earth shook as a creature emerged from the foliage, towering over you and radiating the power you’d been feeling the moment you stepped into the forest. Breath caught in your chest, you stared as it approached, massive body covered in moss and vines. Flowers bloomed across its mossy skin, the vines pulsing like veins would, red eyes never leaving your own. It stopped only a few feet from you, snow melting as flowers rose to meet it, unfurling like they would in the presence of the sun, the small area around you suddenly turning into a field of wild flowers, petals brushing up against you. But despite how tall the creature was, the way it bent closer to you, warm breath smelling of a fetid swamp, you weren’t afraid. Because you knew what it was. Who it was.

“Alec Holland,” you breathed, frozen in place as he slowly came to sit in front of you, roots sprouting from him and burrowing into the ground.

“That was once my name,” the creature rumbled, voice deep and rasping. “Now, nameless child of a nameless evil. Tell me what brings you into my domain.”

“I…” You found the words suddenly hard to speak, with his gaze piercing you, burrowing under your skin. “My mother brought me… brought us here because someone… someone precious to me is very badly hurt. Your wife, Dr. Arcane… she can’t save his arm, says that it’s too badly damaged. But it was because of me that he was hurt so badly. I want to find a Lazarus Pit, take just a little bit of its waters to heal him.”

“You speak of Jason Todd,” Alec Holland, or what had once been him, said. “You love him.”

Flushing, you swallowed a lump in your throat and nodded. There was no use in lying about it. All you had was hope and the truth in your heart. You could only hope that it was enough.

“I… I do,” you whispered.

“You love him enough to come and ask a favor of the Swamp Thing,” he said, “and his wife. You love him enough to risk the unknown.”

“I do,” you confirmed, curling in on yourself. “I… I would do anything to heal him.”

“Despite your own injuries.” As he spoke, you felt vines curl under your jacket and shirt, jolting in surprise as they wrapped around your ribs, touch light enough that it did not pain you. Yarrow let out a soft hiss, ears flattening against her skull in response to your surprise. “How far would you go, nameless child?”

“As far as I need to,” you said, refusing to break eye contact. “Whatever it takes.”

The Swamp Thing, or Alec Holland, or whatever he was, remained silent for a long moment. Simply stared at you, watched you, looking for something in your gaze. When he found whatever he had been searching for, the vines unwound from around you, your shoulders slumping with relief.

“A demon has followed you here,” he said. “To my sanctuary. Endangering this land, the Green, and my wife. Slay him and I will do what I can for you.”

Of course a demon had followed you there. They truly could not let you rest, would take any and every opportunity they could. Swallowing your rage and frustration, trying to keep calm in the presence of the powerful being before you, you forced yourself to take another deep breath. Your ribs did not ache as much as they had before, a dull, distant pain. Strange, but not an immediate concern. Yarrow had settled down once more, perching up on your shoulder, bright blue eyes staring down the Swamp Thing.

“I… I’ll do what has to be done to find him and take care of him, then,” you said. “Can you… can you truly find a Lazarus Pit?”

“Nothing is so well hidden that the Green cannot find it,” he told you, continuing to be as cryptic as he could. “The al-Ghuls are not as powerful as they think. Take this, child.”

Swamp Thing held out his hand, a tiny blossom emerging from it, a strange, rosy light pulsing in the veins of its petals. You hesitated for a moment before reaching out, carefully plucking it and letting it lay in your palm.

“Swallow it,” he said. “In the old days, children with blood like yours relied on plants like that to summon their visions. Spare your body further abuse.”

“It… will it truly work?” you asked, frowning up at him.

He simply stared you down, pulling his hand away. No further explanation, then. Although you were skeptical, you also weren’t going to question him any further. Tipping your head back, you opened your mouth and swallowed the flower whole. It left a sweet aftertaste on your tongue, tingling in your stomach. For a moment, there was no noticeable effect, a disappointed sigh slipping past your lips. But just as you were about to tell him that it was not going to work, the euphoric rush of a prophecy hit you, harder than it ever had before. A moan slipped past your lips, your back arching and your fingers curling into the soil. Your blood bubbled and fizzed, pleasure swelling low in your belly. The canopy bled into a swirl of green, the tingling feeling in your stomach spreading out to the rest of your body, eyes rolling back as you twisted and let the prophecy rush over you.

_“Fish god, legend of the Philistines, cruelly stripped of title and made monster, Dagon lurks in fresh waters. Cousin of the darkness, far flung relative, caring not of blood and only of duty and revenge; blood staining fresh waters, light cutting through immortal flesh. The child must set aside all fear and face the old god with love in her heart and blade in hand. He waits, ravenous, in cold waters. Take the gift of the Green and lay the heart bare.”_

Even as the prophecy slipped away, the words burning into your memory, your vision did not clear. Skin still flushed, you gasped as the swirling sky blended together into visions, playing out before your eyes. A fish monster in a cold river, scales dull and dark and rows upon rows of sharp teeth flashing. A flower blooming in your throat, kodachi in hand as you sank into the cold depths. Blood in the water. A glowing pit, the same eerie green as the eyes of the man you loved. An old oak tree, drooping branches pointing accusingly to the fish god. A twisting, writhing shadow made of sharp teeth and too many eyes.

Gasping for breath, you slowly came down from the hallucinogenic high, blinking rapidly to clear your vision. You had slid onto your uninjured side, ribs aching as you sat up and found Alec Holland still watching you. Waiting, expression on his warped, monstrous face stoic as you slowly came back to yourself. Once you’d caught your breath, face flushed with embarrassment at him seeing you in the throes of a vision, he slowly stood.

“You have seen what you need. A flower blooms at the edge of your path back to Abby’s home. Pluck three blossoms, no more. When it comes time to face the demon, swallow only one. The Green will give you this gift.” Roots slithering out of the ground, he looked away from you, back towards the mountains. “Place the head in the hollow of this tree. You will have what you seek in exchange for this favor.”

“I…” You blinked up at him, Yarrow clawing her way back up to sit on your shoulder after having retreated during your vision. “Thank you.”

Tipping his head in a quiet nod, the Swamp Thing turned from you, slow lumbering steps dying as he melted away into the forest once more. You remained under the willow tree a few moments longer, trying to absorb everything that had happened to you in the span of just a few short hours. Yarrow butted her head against your jaw, purring, and you sighed, reaching up to gently stroke her soft fur. Although you were exhausted, although your joints ached as you stood and slowly made your way back through the forest, pale pink flowers blooming along your path and guiding you back to the ranch house, you knew that you would get no rest. Not for a while. Not until you had made things right once more.

Familiar on your shoulder, vision swimming in your head, and determination in your heart, you held your head high as you walked the path to the ranch house, ready to face any monster in your way.

\---

Nanashi found the Lazarus where she suspected she would, once more sitting out in the bed of his truck, the dog sleeping at his side and a book propped up on his lap. Materializing directly in front of him, she picked up the book when he jolted in surprise, unable to muffle a startled yelp. Taking a vicious satisfaction in his reaction, she turned the book over to examine the front cover. Poetry, of course.

“Wasting away the day just reading books, hm?” she said, grinning when he snatched the book back and glared at her.

“Dr. Arcane ordered me to rest,” he snapped back. “Not like there’s much else for me to do, anyways.”

“Ah, at least you can admit when you’re useless,” she snickered, sitting back on her heels as he marked his place in the book and tossed it aside. “If there’s nothing else for you to do, Lazarus, we need to talk.”

“Is it about Swamp Thing watching us out there?” He gestured to the line of trees only a matter of feet away, brow pinched. “Because given the way you’ve been picking fights with his wife, I can see why you might be worried about that.”

“No,” she sighed. “This is not about Alec. My time to worry about him is not now. I trust that the child will be safe around him.”

“Wait, don’t tell me that you sent Delphi out there—”

“She chose to do this.” Nanashi cut him off abruptly, eyes narrowed. “Anything she does is of her own choice. And, need I remind you, she’s doing this for _you,_ Jason Todd.”

That silenced him, his anger bleeding into guilt. It should have been satisfying to see, given her that same wicked little joy to see him taken down a few notches. But instead, it was just… well, it was a bit sad. He looked like a kicked puppy, all sad eyes and bleeding heart. Not at all the angry, stubborn terror he had been back in Gotham City. Relenting for the moment, she settled down with her legs tucked beneath her, watching a muscle in his jaw clench and unclench.

“I know she is,” he finally whispered, voice raw with emotion. “I don’t… I never asked her to. I’m not worth it.”

“Clearly, she thinks you are worth it.” Nanashi kept her voice low, all too aware of the many eyes that watched and ears that listened. “Which brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about, Lazarus.”

He tensed, not responding. Just waiting, bracing himself for whatever she was about to bring up. A good reaction, she had to admit, considering the sucker punch she was about to hit him with.

“Do you love my daughter?” she asked. Frank, straightforward. No judgement.

The Lazarus was eerily still, eyes wide. When his ears flushed, she knew that it was not from the cold. He glanced over her shoulder, out towards the forest, then back at her.

“Wh-what?” he stammered, voice breaking.

“My daughter.” Nanashi tried her best to be patient. “Do you love her?”

“I…” His mouth opened and closed several times, her question rendering him speechless for a long while. Finally, he coughed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “This… feels like a trick question.”

“It’s not,” she said, heaving an annoyed sigh. “I am very serious, Lazarus. I need to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know if I will have to deal with my child getting her heart broken for the first time.”

That rendered him speechless once more, although he looked confused. Truly, deeply puzzled, shaking his head and sitting up straighter.

“Nanashi, I’m not going to—”

“Answer the fucking question,” she snapped, patience running dangerously thin.

“… I do,” he finally answered, looking away from her. Looking ashamed, scared. “I shouldn’t, but… I do.”

Although she already knew that for a fact, it was good to hear him admit it out loud. Even a blind fool would have been able to see that the boy loved the child as much as she loved him, if not more. It was written all over his face, the only thing that kept it from being any more obvious than it already was a lack of big cartoon hearts floating around his head any time he so much as glanced at her. The problem was that Delphi was oblivious, blind to any feeling that approached love or affection, unused to what it looked or felt like.

“You need to tell her,” Nanashi told him. Before he could argue, she held up a hand, silencing him. “I don’t want to hear whatever excuses you’ve been giving yourself. I could not care less. You can hate yourself all you want, find yourself unworthy and wanting. But when you stay silent, you hurt the child. Make her question herself. She doesn’t have the tools she needs to admit her own feelings. I know that you want something more than this strained friendship, Lazarus. But for that change to happen, you have to be the one to take that first step. You have to tell her. Because until you do, she will never be able to return your affections.”

The Lazarus was silent for a long, long moment. Nanashi watched as he absorbed her words, watched the way his expression changed. Finally, he seemed to be recognizing all of the small things the child had been doing, desperately trying to communicate her love to him in the only way she could. Before he could rush past her, go running off into the forest, she stopped him. Placed her hand over his stuttering heart, pushed him gently back down to sit.

“There is a time and a place for these things.” When he stared at her, face flushed and eyes wide, she sighed. “The child needs to focus, right now. As romantic as it may be to go running after her and spill your guts out, it will not help anybody for her to be distracted in her quest to heal you. You’ll know when the time is right.”

Or, at least, she could hope that he knew when the time was right. She didn’t have much faith in his intelligence, but she could at least count on his heart seeming to know what was right and what was not when it came to the child. Despite his moment of impatience, he eventually settled back with a long sigh. Rubbing at his jaw, he glanced up, meeting her eyes.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “We both know you don’t like me. Why encourage this?”

“Because although you’ve dragged my daughter into a dangerous situation that places her life in danger every second of every day,” she told him, voice low as she leaned close, “I want her to be happy. It doesn’t matter who it is with. And if you are the one to make her happy, so be it. But know that if you do hurt her, if you put her in any further danger, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth. Understood?”

The Lazarus gave a short nod and she backed away, letting a sly grin tug at her lips once more.

“Glad we understand one another. Go back to your book, Lazarus. And think on this.”

Sensing the child’s pull, she wiggled her fingers in a mocking wave before she dematerialized. The last lingering bit of her caught his frustrated sigh, the way he smacked his forehead with his book, before she rematerialized along the line of the forest. As she waited for the child, Nanashi smirked.

All would be well, one way or another. She would make it so.

\---

Still feeling a bit of the aftereffects of the flower that Alec Holland had given you, you took a moment to sit down in the bedroom, Yarrow jumping down off your shoulder and waddling around the room to sniff at anything and everything she could reach. Fingertips still tingling, a fizzling sensation under your skin, you pulled out the tarot deck Jason had given you, deftly shuffling it and spreading the cards in front of you. Although you had been given a vision already, you found some small comfort in the further clarification of the cards, turning over three, a small spread once more.

 _The Hierophant._ No doubt Dagon, still waiting for you in a cold, fresh water river, waiting to strike. A card of captivity and servitude, the fish god turned monster and servant of death. A distant relative, sharing bonds that you had once worn, but refusing to break free of them, a comfort in not having free will.

 _Queen of Cups._ A piece of something you had not seen, a future that you were not quite privy to. Or, perhaps, a new card to represent you. A representation of a loyal friend, of virtue and love. The bright side of you, what you wanted to represent despite the darkness in your heart, the rot and stain in your soul.

 _Four of Wands._ A card of harmony and positive feelings, hard work rewarded with good results. A good omen, among so many bad ones that you had found as of late. Your fingers lingered on the face of the card, the distant figures holding up bouquets. A sign that perhaps your quest would end well, that it was not as foolish as you feared it was.

Yarrow clambered into your lap, forked tail curling over her fuzzy little paws and big eyes observing your spread. You gently stroked her fur, the purr that rumbled from her giving you another small rush of comfort. A sense of security, some invisible bond tethering you to the strange little familiar. One paw reached out, resting on top of a fourth card. Curious, you turned it over.

 _The Lovers._ You frowned, glancing down at the familiar. It was a card that you’d drawn already, a quiet and painful reminder of Lilith and Samael, the source of the feather that hung around your neck. But it felt… different this time. Instead of the quiet companionship that you’d felt the previous time you’d drawn it, there was a warmth that lingered in your fingertips. A phantom caress, calloused fingertips that brushed across the small of your back.

Shaking your head, you slipped it back into the deck, ignoring the flush that had risen to your cheeks. Nothing more than a foolish hope, that’s all it was. Despite what your heart wanted, despite what you longed for, you weren’t going to entertain that fantasy. Because that’s all it was; a fantasy. You were happy with what you had. A friendship was enough. Pity would be enough, any kind of sympathy. It would be enough for him to simply let you stay by his side, despite how broken and dirtied you were. Yarrow gave a plaintive chirp, watching with eyes far too wise for a kitten as you gathered up the cards and slipped them back into their box. 

Feeling a bit more centered, head a little bit less in the clouds and colors no longer swirling in the back of your mind, you carefully picked up Yarrow and stood. Ribs screaming in pain at the movement, you had to stop, blinking away the lingering image of blood in the water as you leaned against the wall. Forcing yourself to take deep breaths, the way Dr. Arcane had shown you the previous day, you fought through the pain and picked up your kodachi. Yarrow clambered into the hood of your jacket, the little press of her paws against the back of your neck a quiet comfort as you walked down the hall.

“Delphi!” You paused at the sound of your name, turning your head to see Jason sitting at the round dining table, fingers curled around a mug of tea. Nanashi sat across from him, feet propped up on the table and smoking a long, elegant looking pipe. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you told him, despite the way your heart lodged in your throat at the sight of him, his bandaged arm a painful reminder of your inadequacy. “Is your arm…?”

“It’s more… numb than anything,” he admitted after a moment, eyes straying to the furry bundle in your hood. “Is that a cat?”

“Oh!” You perked up, walking over to the table. Setting down your kodachi, you carefully removed Yarrow from your hood, cradling her in your arms instead. “This is Yarrow. She’s a familiar, Nanashi gave her to me this morning.”

Yarrow let out a chirp, her form flickering for a moment when she yawned, rows upon rows of sharp white teeth flashing in her little mouth. But just as quickly as she’d appeared to be other, she was a fluffy little black kitten once more. Jason stared at her, blinking once before he turned to Nanashi with a concerned frown.

“That’s not a cat,” he told her. “I told you she wanted a cat, not a weird… demon thing.”

“It’s cat adjacent,” Nanashi drawled, blowing out a ring of dark, sweet smelling smoke and smirking.

Jason glared at your mother, who simply let out a low, amused chuckle as she turned to you. Gesturing to the door with her pipe, she leaned further back in her chair.

“Heading out?” she asked.

“I am.” You nodded, setting Yarrow on your shoulder so she could clamber back into your hood. “I… don’t know when I’ll be back. I have something I need to do before Mr. Holland will give me what we need to help Jason.”

“Do you need help?” he asked, already beginning to stand. “I can’t promise how much help I can really be, but—”

“No.” You shook your head, cutting him off and picking up your kodachi. “I need to do this alone, and… and you need to focus on resting, Jason. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t look convinced, but Nanashi gave you a proud little grin.

“She’s right, Lazarus,” she said. “She will be fine on her own. Good hunting, sweet girl.”

With a short nod, you turned to head out, ignoring the cold doubt that settled in your gut. This was different than your encounter with Orias, where you’d faced him in your dreamscape, had some degree of control over the situation. Although you had seen your victory, you had not seen if it came at any cost to you. The blood in the water could have been not only Dagon’s, but your own. You were entering his turf, unable to swim and relying on nothing but sheer luck and the iridescent blue blossoms in your pocket.

“Nana, I told you not to smoke in the house!” you heard Dr. Arcane yell at your mother before the door shut behind you. “And get your fucking feet off the table. Do you have _no_ concept of manners?”

Letting the sound of Jason’s amused snort fuel you, you stared out at the expanse of wilderness before you and set out. The last of the snow, what wasn’t stubborn enough to melt under the heat of the early afternoon sun, crunched under your boots. You adjusted the scarf Nanashi had given you, wrapping it around the bottom half of your face to protect it from the cold. Although you did not know the area, could have easily gotten lost, you instinctively walked down a beaten path along the edge of the forest, heading through a sparse area. It did not seem touched by Alec Holland, nowhere near as lush as the section that you had moved through earlier. Images flickered in your head, memories of your vision guiding you towards Dagon.

It did not take long for you to break through the trees, the mountains looming closer than they had before. Pausing to catch your breath, you leaned against a tree, Yarrow poking her head over your right shoulder and sniffing at the air. After a moment she let out a soft hiss, face rippling and teeth bared as her ears swiveled back in displeasure. You looked in the direction she was facing, fear running cold in your veins. There was the old oak tree, branches bent towards a frozen river. Somewhere in the depths, Dagon waited.

Pushing yourself away from the tree, you slowly approached the river. The ice on the surface was thick, but began to crack after a couple of kicks. Placing Yarrow on a low branch of the tree, you unraveled your scarf and knelt at the river’s edge. Clutching the kodachi with both hands, you smashed it once, twice, three times against the crack in the ice until it gave way. A small hole, just big enough for you to slip through appeared, widening when you pushed at the ice with the heel of your boot. You didn’t know how to swim, didn’t know how deep the river ran. But you also knew that Dagon was not going to come to the surface. That he waited for you to take the plunge. Peeling off your coat, you hesitated before you stripped all the way down to your underwear. You shivered, bare to the elements, but knew that you would need to bundle up quickly once you surfaced. Drawing the kodachi from its sheath, you set the ornate scabbard on top of your pile of clothes, glancing up at Yarrow.

“Well,” you muttered, taking a deep breath and clutching one of the flowers in your hand. “Here goes nothing.”

Closing your eyes, you jumped into the river. The water was a cold shock against your skin, making you cry out, what little air had been in your lungs escaping to the surface. Movements pained and sluggish as you sank, you placed the flower in your mouth, other hand clutching the sword. After a moment, it began to bloom, petals slithering down your throat, piercing through the skin. You cried out again, but instead of breathing in water, you took a deep lungful of air. Feet brushing the bottom of the river, you were blind in the dark, coming to hold the kodachi in front of you with both hands.

 _“Hello little cousin,”_ a voice hissed, making you spin around, movements slowed by the water. _“Have you become a hunter? A little knight in shining armor for your Lazarus?”_

You tried to locate Dagon, find the origin of the hissing voice in the depths, but found only darkness. The light filtering through the ice did not reach this far down, shadows surrounding you. Something cold and scaled brushed against your ankle and you jumped, lashing out blindly with the kodachi. Cruel laughter came from your blind side and when you turned your head, you found yourself staring directly into Dagon’s bulging grey eyes. A thing membrane protected them from the water, pupils glowing in the dark. He was larger than you thought he would be, webbed fingers closing around your face and shoving you against the bottom of the river.

When you flailed the sword at him again, he caught the slow-moving blade easily, two more arms coming into view, as well as his long, twisting tail. Scars mottled the scaled limb, his fins tattered and a drab grey. Gills cut through his throat and his ribs, fluttering with each breath he took. Pressing your face hard into the riverbed, you winced as a sharp stone cut your cheek. Rendered blind with your right side pressed down into the mud and stones, you could not see him, panic rushing hot through your limbs. Right hand letting go of the kodachi, you flailed blindly, slapping weakly at his cold, slimy face.

 _“So weak, so small,”_ he laughed, pressing your face down harder, harder, until his grip on your head was painful. _“Did you truly think you stood a chance? They will never find your body, little cousin. Once I have picked your bones dry, I will move on to your mother. Then the good doctor, and then finally the Lazarus. But I will take my time with him. The Pits do make the flesh taste so sweet.”_

Gritting your teeth, you managed to press your right hand against his chest. Letting the storm swell inside of you, you ignored the burning pain as the skin of your palm split open and the crack of lightning transferred from your flesh to his, the scream of pain he let out echoing painfully in your ears. Dagon let go of you, letting you turn your head towards him once more, wrenching the kodachi free of his grip. All four hands pressed against the sizzling flesh of his chest, he hissed at you, bloated face creased with rage and sharp teeth bared. Swallowing your fear, you raised the blade once more, propelling yourself forward by kicking against the river bottom. The kodachi sank into the curve of his waist, where his tail began, dark blue blood welling as you ran him through. Dagon screamed again, taking advantage of the way you flinched to lash forward, his teeth sinking deep into your shoulder.

You screamed, the pain flashing hot through your veins, overwhelmed by visions flashing through your head. As your blood curled towards the surface, looking like crimson lace, you heard Jason’s voice echoing, saw the light of the moon and the flesh of his arm knitting itself back together. What he was saying, you could not understand. The words were not important, but his voice was, deep and rasping, raw with emotion. Warmth swelled in your chest, your grip tightening on the kodachi and the dark energy from it running electric in your veins. With all the strength you could muster, you twisted it, running it through his guts before you planted your feet on his tail and pushed yourself away, the blade freeing itself from his flesh with a sickly wet sound, clear even in the muted river.

Dagon’s teeth tore through the flesh of your shoulder as you wrenched yourself free, the flesh tattered and blood pumping steadily from the wound. Ignoring it, ignoring the pain, you raised the kodachi once more. Dagon continued to scream, cut nearly in half by the blade, guts floating out in dark, knotted lengths. His terrible blood floated around him, obscuring him for a moment. Then his arms were lashing forward once more, speeding towards you.

A shadow sped through the water, turning into a mass of sharp teeth and silvery blue, flaming eyes. No longer a cat but a shadowy, monstrous mass, Yarrow latched herself around Dagon’s head, curling around it, teeth plucking out his eyes and muffling his screams. A hissing voice echoed in your head, one you instinctively knew to be Yarrow.

_Take the head now, oracle._

No time to hesitate. No time to give in to the pain, or the cold. Powering through it, you screamed again, injured shoulder threatening to give out as you pulled back and cut through Dagon’s neck with every ounce of strength you had. The sharp edge of the blade did most of the work for you, carving through the thick stump of his neck like a hot knife through butter. Dagon’s body twitched, fingers spasming before it slowly, slowly sank to the mud and stones. Yarrow, still a pulsing shadowy mass, wrapped herself around the head, a few tendrils of her body wrapping around your torso before she pulled both of you from the river.

Vomiting up dirty river water and the dulled flower, you shivered violently, soaked to the bone and blood slowly trickling from the wound in your shoulder. But you could not stop. You could not rest. Ignoring the chill quickly settling into your limbs, you wrapped the scarf your mother had given you tight around your arm and shoulder, tying it into a tight knot with your teeth to staunch the blood flow. Fingers numb and fumbling, you pulled your clothes back on, huddled in your jacket to try to warm yourself, even just a little. No longer a pulsing, dark mass, Yarrow had become a cat once more, but much larger than she had been. Two pairs of blazing blue eyes met yours, her form almost as large as Schnitzel and Dagon’s head in her mouth. Slinking over to you, Yarrow wrapped herself around your shivering form as you returned the kodachi to its scabbard. Shuddering, you buried your face in her warm, thick fur. You took a moment to simply sit there, her warm body curled around yours in an attempt to banish the chill that numbed you.

But you still could not stop. You could not rest. Not yet. Once your fingers were no longer numb, you slowly stood, Yarrow helping you to your feet. Steadying yourself against the old oak tree, you cradled the kodachi close to your chest and watched your familiar shift back into a kitten. Whatever energy she’d had, whatever you’d been able to give to her, had run dry. Broken ribs aching and hot pain radiating from your injured shoulder, you picked up Dagon’s head by the hair and slowly, slowly made your way back into the forest. Wet hair plastered against your skin, you could not stop shivering. The warmth had been leached from your bones, even as Yarrow climbed up your body, perched on your shoulder and pulled your hood up as best she could with her mouth and paws. The same pink flowers that had guided you to the house now bloomed in a new path, leading you back to the large willow tree in the heart of the forest.

Alec Holland, the Swamp Thing, was already waiting for you, expression unreadable and the same pink flowers blooming along his shoulders. You held Dagon’s head aloft, dark, viscous blood still dripping from the stump.

“I’ve… d-done what you a-asked,” you stammered, teeth chattering. “Dagon is… d-dead. Take me t-to… a L-Lazarus Pit.”

“You are injured,” he said, burning gaze sliding to the head of the fish god. Vines slithered along the forest floor, reaching up to take the head from you, pulling it into the hollow of the tree. “Badly.”

“I’m fine,” you said.

You were not fine. You swayed on your feet, blood already soaking through the scarf, the chill set far too deep in your bones. Although you wanted to push through it, prove that you were capable of fighting through the pain and the exhaustion and the cold, you feared that you would soon collapse. Yarrow had draped herself around your neck, chirping angrily at the Swamp Thing. He stared at your familiar, gave a slow nod and approached you.

“Stay still,” he ordered. His massive, mossy hand peeled back your jacket, your shirt, pulled away the bloody scarf. The skin of your left shoulder had been shredded by Dagon’s teeth, streaked with gore and skin darkening at the edges. “This will hurt.”

That was all the warning you got before he laid his hand over your shoulder, screaming pain radiating down your arm and making you cry out. Flashes of the same vision, Jason’s voice, reverberated in your head as you did your best to stand still. But as soon as the pain had flared, it stopped. Blinking away the tears in your eyes, you glanced down at your shoulder. Soft moss had wrapped around the wound, tiny red flowers dotting the deep green. The vegetation pulsed as it tightened, staunched the bleeding. The Swamp Thing straightened your clothing, red, pupil-less eyes meeting your own.

“In return, I will take you to a Lazarus Pit,” he said, voice deep and reverberating. “It is small, but has grown at the junction of two ley lines close to this place. Close your eyes, rest, and I will take you there, nameless child.”

“But…” You tried to argue, voice weak, but found no words.

“It will take time to arrive there. You deserve the rest.” The Swamp Thing picked you up, ignoring your muffled protest as he cradled you close to his mossy chest. Yarrow moved to curl up on your chest, purring loudly as vines closed around you, kept you secure. His body was warm, like the peak of a spring day, slowly radiating into your cold joints. “Sleep a moment. When you wake, you may take what it is that you need.”

Although you did not want to give in, you could not help it. Could not stop your eyelids from slowly drifting shut, could not stop your body from relaxing into the warmth of his chest, the vines that held you gently but securely. With Yarrow keeping watch, you drifted off into a fitful sleep, dreaming of your body resting at the bottom of the river.

\---

The sensation of being lowered to the ground woke you, eyes shooting open and a startled gasp slipping past your lips. Alec Holland had laid you on a patch of soft, warm soil. Taking deep, panicked breaths, you slowly sat up, ribs aching and Yarrow scrambling up to drape herself around your neck once more. Wherever you were, it was dark, much warmer than the forest had been. Sweat beaded on your forehead, the ends of your hair still damp but the chill in your bones replaced by a soft, comforting warmth. Once your vision adjusted to the dark, you looked up at the creature towering over you.

“We are here,” he said, one arm pointing past you. “A young, new Lazarus Pit.”

Slowly, you turned, a low buzz under your skin as your eyes landed on a small, bubbling pit. The warmth radiated from it, although it was not much larger than a bathtub. Just large enough for a person to submerge themselves. But you only wanted to take some of the waters, entranced by the soft green glow. The Swamp Thing helped you to your feet, a giant lotus blooming in his palm, which he offered to you. Carefully, you took it after you had shoved your kodachi into your belt, the petals thick and smooth, large enough that you had to hold it in both hands.

“A vessel,” he explained. “Drop it into the pit, wait for it to float back to you. Do your best not to touch the waters. It will close around what it takes.”

Nodding, you took slow, hesitant steps towards the small pit. You kneeled at the edge, letting the lotus slip from your fingers and into the water. Slowly, it sank, the petals furling in once it touched the shallow bottom. This close to the Lazarus Pit, your scars ached, skin prickling. Whatever powers the Pit held, they set you on edge. Even if the Swamp Thing had not warned you against touching the waters, you would have avoided it anyways. The lotus bobbed back up to the surface, heavy with the waters it had closed within it, curled tightly in on itself. Carefully, you picked it up, the contents within it much lighter than you had expected. Once the last drop had run off the surface of the lotus bundle, you cradled it close, the flower warm against your chest. It seemed to pulse, a soft, barely there heartbeat held within. Yarrow gave it a curious sniff before recoiling, hissing as she retreated to curl up in the hood of your jacket.

You had succeeded. Somehow, you had found exactly what you needed. Somehow, you had not failed. Holding the precious thing close, you closed your eyes. Alec Holland pulled you once more into an embrace. You went easily this time, did not fight him as he lifted you in one arm and carried you out. But you remained awake, this time. Opened your eyes long enough to witness as the earth split open in front of you, slowly closing once more and hiding away the dangerous thing bubbling just beneath the surface. A chamber yet undiscovered, but undoubtedly hunted by the al-Ghuls that had been mentioned. Perhaps by the Talia that Jason had mentioned throwing him into that first Pit. The journey was not as long as you had thought, the sun only just beginning to set when the Swamp Thing emerged from the forest, carrying you to the ranch house.

Dr. Arcane ran out of the house, face flushed as she stared up at her husband. He let you down, stepping back once he knew that you were steady on your feet.

“Alec…” Her voice was soft, eyes wide as she looked up at him.

Alec Holland gathered his wife in an embrace, closing his eyes as she buried her face in his chest. Flowers bloomed in her hair, soft pink blossoms that also clustered over where his heart was. Eyes stinging, you looked away. Gave them a moment of privacy and ignored the pain in your own heart as they held one another.

Jason ran out of the house, eyes wide and breathing heavily as he stopped just a few feet away from you. Swallowing the tears that threatened to well up, you carefully held the glowing green bundle aloft for him to see.

“I did it,” you whispered. “You… you’ll be okay now.”

Gaze sliding down to the lotus, at the waters that pulsed within it, Jason slowly stepped closer to you. Stopped once he was standing right in front of you, his hand shaking as he rested it over one of yours. Eyes the same color as the precious waters you held, your heart lurched when you saw a tear slowly run down his cheek.

“Jason…?” you asked, grip tightening on the lotus. “What…?”

“You did it,” he breathed. Looking back up at you, he let out a choked laugh, pulling his hand away to wipe at his eyes. “You… you really did it.”

“Jason Todd.” The Swamp Thing stepped up behind you, the warmth that had been in his expression replaced once more with a cold indifference. “The location of the source is to remain unknown. Do you understand?”

Expression hardening, Jason nodded. Moving closer to you, he placed himself almost protectively between you and the Swamp Thing. He squared his shoulders as he stared up into the elemental’s eyes.

“I understand,” he said.

“Good.” Alec Holland gave a slow nod, gaze sliding to you. “You have done your favor for me, and I have returned the favor. Once you have rested and recovered, leave my home. Do not return.”

Not really a threat, but a warning. For how gentle he had been around you, you knew that he hated your mother. That any kindness he had shown you would not be repeated if you ever stepped within his domain again. Hugging the lotus to your chest, you ducked your head.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “I won’t forget what you’ve done for me, Alec Holland. I… I know that the blood that runs in my veins is from someone you hate. I will not burden you or your wife any longer than we need to.”

Mossy face shifting into a look of grim satisfaction, he lingered only a moment longer to let his wife press a kiss to the corner of his lips. Then he sank into the earth, leaving only a few pale pink flowers in his wake. Dr. Arcane rested a hand on your shoulder, fingertips brushing against the bit of moss that peeked past your collar.

“Come on,” she said, gaze lingering on the flowers before she urged you back towards the house. “I’ll draw a bath and we can see what these waters do.”

Nanashi appeared once you had stepped inside the ranch house, glancing at the door before she turned back to you. Her cold eyes appraised the bundle in your arms, her lips curling down into an uneasy frown. Stepping forward, she let her fingertips brush against the warm petals before she recoiled with a soft hiss.

“Lazarus,” she said, turning to Jason, who had stopped to stand at your side. “Even if we submerge only your arm, even if the waters of the Pit are diluted, there is a chance that you could still experience the madness you did once before.”

“Yeah.” Jason sighed, frowning down at the little bundle. “I know. But… I snapped out of it once. I can do it again.”

“Hm.” Nanashi’s brow was pinched, her arms folded tightly over her chest. “I… have a plan in case that comes to pass. But let us hope it does not come to that.”

Your mother stepped forward, pulling your kodachi from where you had tucked it into your belt. Her eyes lingered on your injured shoulder, on the blood that stained your shirt. You stiffened, braced yourself for her cold anger. But instead, she stepped away, pointing down the hall.

“Go, child.” There was a sharp edge to her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Help prepare the bath. I will put away your kodachi and prepare your Lazarus.”

You glanced up at Jason, his expression as grim as your mother’s. He gave you a short nod.

“Go ahead, Delphi,” he said. “We’ll be there shortly.”

You looked between the two, heart growing cold. Despite the rush of victory that you had felt before, you could not help but wonder if, perhaps, you were damning Jason instead of saving him. What madness had Nanashi spoken of? Was… was it the right thing to do, dipping even just his arm into the water? Questioning everything you had done, you turned away from them. Yarrow rubbed her cheek against yours, but you did not feel any warmth at the affection. Just cold, terrible doubt.

Even in this, you could have failed. But you couldn’t back down now. Not after you had slain a demon on your own. Not after you had struck up a bargain with an avatar of the Green. Not after all of the pain you’d gone through. Swallowing thickly, you stepped into the bathroom. Dr. Arcane knelt by her large, porcelain tub. Steam hung in the air, the water not filled quite to the top, leaving enough room for what the lotus held. Kneeling on the tile next to her, you took a deep breath.

“You’re scared,” she said. Her expression was not unkind as she leaned closer to you. “Don’t be. Everything will be okay. I got that gut feeling.”

“I… I hope so,” you whispered.

“Once we’ve sorted out your man, I’ll take care of your shoulder,” Dr. Arcane told you, voice low. Just loud enough so that only you could hear. “We can drink some hot cocoa and you can tell us all about your adventure.”

“I… thank you. Again.” You tried to smile, but feared it came across as more of a grimace. “For everything. I know that my mother is not… easy to be around.”

“Oh, your mother’s a stone-cold bitch that I would murder in her sleep if ever given the chance.” She snorted, amused by your shock. “But she’s tolerable around you. Maybe being a mother might make her a little less horrible.”

The more you learned about your mother, the more you couldn’t help but fear that darkness in your heart. Would you grow up to be like her? Kind only to the person you loved, but monstrous otherwise? The possibility of that alone was upsetting. Terrible. Made you sick to your stomach. Although she was your family… you did not want to be like her.

“Go ahead and drop that in the tub.” Dr. Arcane pulled you out of your thoughts, nodding to the bath. “Let it… do what it needs to.”

Shaking away your doubt, you turned to the bath. Yarrow jumped down from your shoulders, going to perch on the toilet instead. With both your familiar and the doctor watching closely, you dropped the lotus in the bath. It sank to the bottom, petals slowly unfurling and releasing the waters you’d taken from the Pit. The bath began to bubble, the surface glowing a soft green. Less harsh than the Pit itself, but still strange enough to set you on edge. You scooted away from the tub, watched the steam curl into intricate shapes, lingering in the air longer than they should have.

Nanashi stepped into the room, followed by Jason. He’d stripped down to only his jeans, bandages removed and the stitches that had been keeping his arm together cut away. A slow trickle of blood dripped from his fingers, his expression pinched as he looked at the bath. Trying not to let your eyes linger on his chest, you focused instead on his face as he sat at the edge of the tub. Uneasy, he took a deep breath as he looked over at you.

“If something goes wrong,” he murmured, “run. As fast as you can.”

“No.” You frowned up at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Delphi, a Lazarus Pit can drive someone insane. If it does that to me, again, you can’t—”

“Oh my god,” Nanashi groaned. “Shut the fuck up and get it over with.”

Although he took a moment to glare at your mother, Jason heaved another sigh. Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself to his knees. Silence fell over the room, all eyes on him. Closing his eyes, he clenched his jaw and plunged his ruined arm into the waters.

Breath caught in your chest, you turned your attention to the bath. Right before your eyes, you watched Jason’s flesh slowly knit itself back together. It was a gruesome sight, twisting muscle and pale tendons reattaching, veins pulsing as they functioned once more. His skin was the last thing to fuse back together, the entirety of his right arm, from the tips of his fingers to the junction of his shoulder, healed once more. Even through the green waters, you could see the pale scars that were left, a permanent reminder of the trauma, something that not even the Pit would erase from his flesh. His fingers curled into a fist, muscles clenching and unclenching.

Jason pulled his arm out of the water, eyes open. Staring blankly at his palm, at the water that sluiced off his skin, pooled on the tile, he did not move. His eyes glowed, pulsing along with the diluted bath. You watched, didn’t dare breathe, hope fluttering in your chest. His eyes slipped closed once more and he heaved a heavy sigh.

“Jason…?” you asked, voice trembling. You were terrified that you’d plunged him into madness, in your desperation to heal him.

When he opened his eyes again, the strange glow gone, and smiled, you could not keep yourself from crying. Sobbing in relief, you threw yourself into his arms. He caught you easily, wove his fingers into your hair and held you close.

“It’s me,” he murmured. “It’s fine. I’m… I’m me. I’m fine.”

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Dr. Arcane breathed. She leaned back against the wall, letting out a nervous laugh. “Holy shit, it worked.”

“Of course it worked.” Nanashi crossed over to the tub, plunged her oily arm into the bath to pull the stopper and drain it. The cold edge to her eyes had vanished, although she tried to conceal her relief. “Sweet girl… you did it. Congratulations.”

All that mattered was that Jason was healed. That you had made it right. You wept in relief, cheek pressed over his heart, arms holding him as tightly as you could. His bare chest was warm, as feverishly hot as the pit had been. Strong arms held you close, his face buried in your hair. For one moment, you forgot about the other women in the room. You forgot about your injured shoulder, the cut on your cheek. You forgot about the hell you’d been through, the things you’d faced. Instead, you lost yourself in the warmth of Jason’s affection. Even if an embrace was all you would ever have… it was worth it. As long as he was safe and healthy and happy, that was all that mattered. You could ask for nothing else.

Jason let you go first, took your face in his hands, expression stuck somewhere between disbelief and joy. Sniffling, you gave him a watery smile, winced when his thumb brushed over the shallow cut on your cheek. The warmth in his gaze melted away into concern as he looked you over. He finally seemed to take in your cold, soggy clothes, the blood on your shirt, the moss that peeked past your collar. Before he could say anything, Dr. Arcane cut in.

“Delphi,” she said, voice soft. “We need to get that shoulder tended to. Jason, why don’t you get some hot chocolate started? It’s in the cabinet with the coffee, and milk’s in the fridge. Nana can help you.”

“But—”

“Smothering her further won’t help.” Nanashi gripped the back of Jason’s neck, ignoring the way he winced as she pulled him to his feet. “Be useful, now that you don’t have an excuse to laze around anymore.”

“Fuck you,” Jason growled.

But he didn’t fight her. With one last glance at you, he let her shove him out of the bathroom. Feeling cold without his arms around you, you watched Dr. Arcane toss a towel onto the puddle of Lazarus water, tapping it with her shoe a few times before she turned back to you. With a warm smile, she held her hand out to you.

“Come on, brave girl,” she said. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Chest swelling with pride, you took her hand. Finally. Finally, you had been brave.

It had all been worth it. All the pain, the hardship. The doubt. It had all led to this moment. Even as Dr. Arcane peeled the moss away, dabbed at the ragged wounds as Yarrow purred in your lap to distract you from the pain, you knew you would do it all over again, just to feel the warmth of pride, the swell of it in your chest. It was worth it, knowing that you had done it all for Jason.

\---

A storm sat on the horizon, just on the other side of the mountains. You watched it, felt an echoing roll of thunder with each flash of lightning in the distance. Although it would likely keep you from leaving the next morning as Nanashi planned, you found some comfort in the creeping storm clouds. They blocked out the moon, the waning shine of it too bright in the night sky. Already, you could smell petrichor, mingling in with the scent of ozone. Curled up in a chair on the back porch, you watched it, wrapped up in a blanket and Yarrow sleeping on the table next to you. The house was still and quiet behind you, the others having long since gone to bed.

But you had not been able to sleep. Kept awake by the ache of your injuries, you’d crept outside to watch the storm approach. Your familiar had come with you, the strange cat shadowing you wherever you went. Tied to your very soul, it seemed that she would never leave your side, just as Nanashi had promised.

The back door opened and you turned to see Jason approach you, holding two steaming mugs. You stood abruptly, heart racing once more. He smiled, handing one of the mugs to you and turning to look out at the storm as well.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” he said. You sipped at your tea, watching him from the corner of your eye.

“How did you know I was out here?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

“I stopped by your room,” he admitted, glancing at you and grinning. “Since you weren’t in your bed, I figured you were out here.”

“I just… I couldn’t fall asleep,” you whispered. You turned back to watch the storm, toes curling against the wood of the deck. “I don’t know why.”

That was a lie. You knew exactly why. It wasn’t just because of your injuries. Your mind kept running through the memory of his embrace, how right you’d felt in his arms. The warmth of his body, his firm chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Ashamed, you couldn’t look at him, even as he shifted to stand closer to you. The brush of his arm against yours set your skin alight, cheeks flushed as you stared down at the mug of tea, the steam that curled from the surface.

“Did you ever figure out which Cummings poem reminded me of you?” he asked abruptly, the shift in conversation confusing you.

“Oh…” You frowned, took a long sip of the herbal tea, let it pool warm in your belly. “I… I haven’t, no. I thought it would be easy, but I read the book through three times and couldn’t figure it out.”

“You don’t even have a guess?” he asked.

When you risked a glance at him, he was looking down at you, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. You flushed hotter, looking shyly away from him.

“I…” You hesitated, running through the poems in your head. One fit for how you felt about him, of course. You’d known it the moment you read it. But you couldn’t place your finger on anything that seemed right. Not for him. “Um… ‘Life’s not a paragraph, and death I think is no parenthesis’…?”

It was a bad guess. You knew it was. But it was the only thing that you could think of off the top of your head. Jason laughed, shaking his head and nudging your arm with his.

“Not a terrible guess,” he said, although you both knew it was, “but no. Do you have another guess?”

“I don’t,” you admitted quietly, shrinking in on yourself.

“That’s okay.” He nudged you again, smiling softly when you finally looked back up at him once more. “Do you want me to tell you?”

Oh, of course you did. You wanted to know desperately. Now that he’d brought it up, the curiosity was eating at you. Drumming your fingers against the mug, you hesitated for a moment before you nodded. Jason shifted closer, his head bowed towards your own.

“Rarely-beloved a single star is uttered,” he whispered, the words rolling warm and soft from his lips, “and I think of you.”

Heart racing in your chest, you met his gaze. Felt something unfurl and blossom at the look in his eyes, all warmth and fondness. He let out a shaking breath, reaching past you to set down his tea, taking yours as well. When he took your hands in his, you realized that he was shaking. Concerned, you searched his expression, tried to find what was making him so nervous, so scared. Taking a deep breath, he laced his fingers with yours, moved closer, so that there was barely any space between you.

“Delphi…” He hesitated. Took another deep breath, gave your hands a gentle squeeze. “Delphi. I’m in love with you.”

The world ground to a halt around you, your pulse roaring in your ears as you stared up at him in shock. You… You couldn’t have heard him correctly. There was no way.

“What…?” you whispered.

“I’m in love with you.” Jason said it louder this time, pressed your hands to his chest so that you could feel the rapid flutter of his heart. He was still shaking, even as his voice was strong and unwavering. “I have been for a while. Since the moment I first saw you smile. Since the moment I first heard you laugh. I… I wanted to keep the way I felt quiet. You’re still so young, and I… I’m not worthy of it. But I needed to tell you. What you did for me today… God, Delphi, I didn’t think I could love you more, but you keep proving me wrong. You went out there and you risked your life for someone like me. You did… god, you did the impossible. For me. And I just… I couldn’t keep it locked away. Not any longer.”

“Jason…” You had to be dreaming. This couldn’t be real. Not the way he was looking at you, the stars reflected in his eyes. Not the frantic beating of his heart beneath your hands, a matching rhythm to your own. Not the way he leaned towards you, as if pulled by some irresistible force. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He bit his lip, heat pooling in your chest as your imagination ran wild. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to yours. “I just knew I had to tell you.”

Tears rolled warm down your cheeks as you pressed closer to him. You couldn’t hold them back, let them flow freely as you let the crimson flowers that had been blooming for so long in your chest spill out, your fingers curling in the thin fabric of his shirt.

“I love you,” you sobbed. Felt like the words bled from you, your eyes squeezed shut as you finally let it out. “I love you. I love you so much. I just… I couldn’t say it. I’m too broken, too dirty, too—”

“Oh, sweetheart, no.” Jason pulled back enough to take your face in his hands. He brushed at your tears with his thumbs, his heart open and bleeding for you. The walls he’d kept up had come crashing down, all of him laid bare before you. “No, no. You’re perfect. Can’t you see that? You’re beautiful. You’re so, so beautiful that it hurts. Everything you’ve gone through…” He trailed off, his own eyes shining with tears. “There’s a Japanese artform called kintsugi, where artists repair broken pottery by putting it back together with gold. The whole idea of it is that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.” He ran his thumb along the edges of the scars over your left eye, voice breaking, raw with emotion. “Those golden scars are what make the pieces beautiful. _Your_ scars are what make you beautiful. You’ve… you’ve been through so much. But you didn’t let it turn you hard, or cold, or let it truly break you. You let it make you kind, and warm, and soft. The gold shines through, Delphi. And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You wanted to say something, wanted to reply. But you couldn’t find the right words, sobbing again as he cradled your face. Gripping his shirt harder, you sniffled, blinked away the tears so that you could look him in the eye. Let him see all of you, as broken and jagged as you were. Stepped closer to him, until your chest was pressed against his, breaths mingling in the chill night air.

“You…” You sniffled again, leaned into his touch as he wiped away the last of your tears. “You are worthy of love, Jason. I… I would do it all again for you. I would walk to the ends of the earth for you, if it meant keeping you safe. I may be weak, and I may be fragile, but… But I love you. And nothing could ever change that.”

Jason let out another shaking sigh, his gaze dropping to your lips. Your blood ran hot as he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, the space between you shrinking.

“Delphi…” his voice was velvet soft, had dropped so deep it sent a shiver down your spine. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut as he cupped the back of your head. “God, yes, please…”

The first gentle press of his lips against your own sent shockwaves through you, your body melting against his. Jason kissed you softly, sweetly. His fingers wound in your hair, pulling you closer. Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing the roar of your heart as you slipped your arms around his neck. When he started to pull away, you chased after him, surging up to press an answering kiss against his mouth. Hungrier, more desperate than he had been. You heard him inhale sharply, his fingers tightening in your hair. But he met your hunger with his own, deepening the kiss, the quiet moan that slipped from you muffled against his lips. You didn’t want the moment to end, wanted to lose yourself in the warmth of his embrace, in the electricity that shot through you when his teeth grazed over your bottom lip.

But you eventually had to pull away to breathe, still dizzy, lips kiss swollen as you slowly opened your eyes. The heat in his gaze stole your breath, your heart beating a desperate rhythm against your ribs. Pulling you into a tight embrace, he buried his face in your neck, lips brushing over your pulse in a way that had you weak in the knees. A curious chirp from Yarrow brought you back to reality, the familiar pawing at your hip. Jason chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours.

“We should go back inside,” he whispered against your flushed skin. “Before the storm hits.”

“Right,” you said, still breathless. Still floating above yourself, not quite believing what had happened. “Yeah…”

Pulling away, Jason grinned at your dazed expression, ruffling your hair. Just like he had before, but with an open fondness that he’d tucked away. You took a deep breath, touching your still tingling lips as Jason retrieved the mugs of tea and let Yarrow climb up onto his broad shoulders.

“Do you want to come back to my room?” he asked. “It… It would be nice to have you sleep next to me. If that’s okay.”

“I… I would like that,” you murmured, pressing into his side as he stepped back inside the house.

You both moved quietly through the ranch house, pausing when you heard the floorboards creak. But it was simply Schnitzel, coming down the hall to cheerfully greet you. Heaving a sigh of relief, Jason ushered you into his room, closing the door quietly behind you. You took the mug of tea from him, pressed against him as you finished it. Let a comfortable silence fall between you, now that both of your hearts were out in the open. Yarrow jumped down from Jason’s shoulders, perching at the foot of the bed.

Tea finished and feeling sleepy, you let Jason lead you to the bed, your hand in his. Crawling under the blankets, you waited until he’d laid down before you reached out for him. With a soft chuckle, he pulled you into his arms, your head pillowed on his chest and legs tangled with his. Schnitzel hopped up to lay down at your feet, Yarrow curling up on the pillow next to your head. Jason pressed a feather-light kiss against your temple, fingers winding into your hair as you closed your eyes.

“Good night, Delphi,” he whispered, fingertips brushing over the back of your neck, leaving a tingling trail in their wake.

“Good night, Jason,” you whispered back.

With one arm draped over him, his arms curled protectively around your waist, you fell asleep to the gentle lullaby of his heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew. this was A Chapter. fun fact: dc made it canon that Lazarus Pits appear on ley lines so there's hundreds of those little bitches. [Some](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qPbA0mMGsSg) [Recommended](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBmyToXssjE) [Listening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCuBalItZA8) [For](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1CGMk_roNaE) [You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puXCQk2rYJ8)
> 
> sumiko belongs to [the lovely mari!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmetea)
> 
> [support me on kofi!](https://ko-fi.com/difficultheart)


	10. Part Nine: The Sun and Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: panic attack, discussion of depression/trauma, self-harm, body horror, violence, gore, emotional distress, Delphi continuing to be self-destructive and self-sacrificing in general

It had only been a matter of time before you had one of your Bad Nights. You’d had nightmares, certainly. In New Orleans you’d been absent from yourself, detached from your body, in a way that you hadn’t felt since the compound. But you had used up all of your luck since you’d left Gotham.

It had only been a matter of time.

The first sign had been when you woke up, unable to breathe. Like there was a weight on your chest, pressing down hard, squeezing the air from your lungs. In the short time that you had been able to sleep, you’d rolled away from Jason, curled into a ball, tucked your hands into your chest. Skin crawling, you slipped as quietly as you could from the bed. You paused only for a moment, listening to Jason snore, before you dashed to the bathroom.

The second sign was the cold sweat that had broken out on your skin, the way you shivered uncontrollably. You couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror, didn’t want to have to see yourself in all your wretched glory. The door had clicked shut behind you, leaving you trapped in a dark little motel bathroom, the walls closing in around you. Your shaking hands somehow managed to find the light switch, the florescent bulb flickering as you fell to your knees and heaved into the toilet. Nothing came up but bile, burning hot against your throat, tears stinging your eyes as you pressed your forehead against the cool porcelain.

“No,” you whispered, fingers curling into your hair, eyes squeezed shut. “No, no, no, no.”

There was no stopping the tears. No stopping the sudden rush of panic, your nails digging into your scalp as you let out a soft whine. Terrified of waking up Jason, you managed to move into the shower, curling up in a corner, the curtain closed. A physical barrier between you and everything else, allowing you to silently fall apart. Pressing both hands over your mouth to smother any noise that slipped past your lips, you sobbed, tears streaming down your face. You struggled to breathe, small, panicked gasps that agitated your still healing ribs all that you could manage. Your skin crawled and itched, each scar burning. You wanted to peel them off, wanted to sink your nails in deep and relieve the pain.

Phantom pricks of pain ran along your skin, a reminder of all the deaths you’d had to go through, ripping claws and your own nails and the flash of the blade Jason had given to you. You remembered all the time you’d spent with your special razor in the compound, the cold pressure of the Matron’s hands holding you down and the cold bite of steel on your feverish skin. The sweat trickling down your spine felt like blood, your self separate from your body as you trembled and shook. A panic attack. You’d become far too familiar with the sensation, if not the new images your mind conjured to torment you with. You desperately tried to conjure the things you’d been taught to use as an anchor, little things to help tie you down to reality so that you weren’t lost to the flashbacks.

The smell of petrichor, the distant rumble of thunder, the gentle tapping of rain on the window. The soft caress of grass and flower petals against your feet and ankles, the give of soil when you curled your toes into it, the brush of a gentle spring breeze over your bare legs. The creak of a vinyl seat, the lingering bitter taste of coffee, greasy food and the smell of bacon. Calloused fingers drifting over the back of your neck, warm lips pressed to your own, broad shoulders to rest your head on. The lingering smell of gunpowder and clean, musky cologne. Warm fur pressed against you, the soft vibrations of a purr, gentle, tentative licks to your fingers and chin.

_The impact of a fist to your jaw. Cruel fingers dragging you to your feet by the hair. Stripped bare before cold, unfeeling eyes and your fleshed carved into. Strange medicine forced down your throat, scars you could not remember getting. The sharp sting of a ruler across your knuckles. Strange men appraising you and other girls, lined up like dolls. Distant echoing screams. The glint of the razor as it lowered towards your eye, the last thing it would see. Azrael’s terrible, burning gaze as he decided your fate._

A shadow slithered into the tub, amorphous for a long moment until Yarrow reformed, fluffy and sweet and perched on your knees. Her purr echoed through the cramped little space, her forked tail curling around your leg as she butted her head against your cheek.

 _Don’t cry._ A hissing little voice that echoed in your head, trying to overwhelm the white noise. _Don’t cry. Yarrow is here._

Still whimpering, still shuddering, you tried to focus on the concrete feeling of your familiar. The gentle touch that was her tied so firmly to your soul, her warm little body. She licked at the tears on your cheeks, braced her tiny paws on your chest as she kept up her rumbling purr. So like the thunder, a comforting sound. You did not know how long it took for your tears to stop, for the violent shaking of your body to turn into slow shivers. But you slowly came back to yourself, ribs and shoulder aching.

 _Okay?_ Yarrow gently inquired.

“No,” you whispered. “But… stable.”

Yarrow let out a quiet chirp at your answer, big blue eyes gazing into your own. You wished that you could have said yes. But if you were truly honest with yourself, you didn’t know if you’d ever been okay. Sniffling, you climbed stiffly out of the tub, letting Yarrow curl up around your neck. You went through the motions, flushing the toilet, brushing your teeth to get out the lingering burn of bile, washing your face to remove evidence of your tears. Leaning against the sink, you stared at your own reflection. The permanent red tinge that had bled into your blind, milky iris, the fading bruising around your left eye, the raised scar tissue. Blinking back a fresh wave of tears, you turned away.

It was becoming harder to look at your reflection and not see traces of the monster you could be.

Once you had caught your breath, come down from the floating, disembodied sensation, you turned off the lights, quietly sneaking back out of the bathroom. Yarrow leapt down onto the bed once you were close enough, letting out another soft chirp. Schnitzel had woken up, head raised as you shuffled back towards your side of the bed. Taking a deep breath, you slipped back under the blankets, hoping that you hadn’t woken Jason up. But, of course, you weren’t that lucky. He turned over to face you, sleepily reaching out to pull you into his arms.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he mumbled, voice rough and deep with sleep.

Curling yourself around him, letting him pull you up onto his broad chest, you took a moment to simply listen to the steady beat of his heart, feel the rise and fall of each breath he took.

“No,” you whispered. No point in lying. Not when you still shivered, his big hands slowly rubbing over your arms to warm you up. “Bad Night.”

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

You didn’t know. It was hard to put the feeling into words, really. Hard to describe the ways in which you’d been broken and disassembled, left to put the pieces back together yourself. But you wanted to try.

“Sometimes…” You paused, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. A physical anchor, something to keep you tethered. “Sometimes it feels like I’m floating in space. Like a cosmonaut. Just… drifting, alone in this vast emptiness. And I can see the earth, but it’s just out of reach. Sometimes I drift close to it, close enough to see the mountains and the oceans and the bright lights of the cities. But sometimes I’m so far away that it’s barely a speck in the endless darkness of space.”

Jason let out a soft hum, the sound vibrating against your cheek as he moved to comb his fingers through your hair. Although you’d closed your eyes, curled up on top of him like a frightened cat, you could practically hear him thinking, his other hand tapping a rhythm against your hip.

“I understand,” he told you softly. Although you didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to further rip yourself open and show just how truly weak you were, you couldn’t stop the tears. Couldn’t stop the muffled sob that you let out, pressing your face further into his chest. His arm curled around you, a comforting weight. “I’m a cosmonaut, too.”

“Do… do you want to talk about it?” you sniffled.

You moved so that you could rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him. Even in the darkness of the room, you could see the glint of his eyes, hear a small hitch in his breathing. His arm tightened around you as he slowly sat up, keeping you curled up in his lap as he reached over to turn on the lamp on the bedside table.

“After I came back, after the Lazarus Pit, I…” he paused, glancing down at you. “I wasn’t… right. I didn’t really feel anything for a while. Nothing more than this… unending rage. It felt bottomless. And I just lost myself to it until I was put in a… a bad situation. It snapped me back to myself but I was still lost. For so many years I was like a machine. Just going through the motions because the only thing that mattered was revenge. Making someone else hurt the way I hurt.”

“Why did you want revenge?” you asked, wiping at your face.

“Because when I died… When I died, my adoptive father was too late to save me.” His voice broke, raw with emotion as he tore down a wall for you to see the pain. The quiet heart hurt that he tucked away. “I wanted him to avenge me, but… the guy who murdered me, he was still alive. Still hurting other people. And he’d… _replaced_ me. I wanted him to hurt the way I’d hurt. I was prepared to do anything, no matter how dark or depraved, to prevent another kid dying like I’d died.”

“Is that when you became a cosmonaut?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, resting his cheek against the top of your head, eyes slipping closed. “I wasn’t able to succeed in my revenge and I just felt… empty. What was the point, if I couldn’t even avenge myself? I lost myself in doing what I thought was right, in helping the people who were failed by the police, by the vigilantes. Focused too long and too hard on the criminals instead of their victims. It’s… still like that, some days. The only thing keeping me from just… giving in to the floating is all the things that I still have to make right.”

“I understand,” you murmured, echoing his own words.

Jason let out a soft laugh, burying his face in your hair and holding you just a bit tighter. As tight as he could without putting too much pressure on your ribs, careful not to let your injured shoulder press against him. You skimmed your fingertips over his arm, tracing the new pale scars that had been left there. Resting your hand on his bicep, you closed your eyes as well. Lost yourself in the tide of his breathing, the protective curl of his arms cradling you. Schnitzel let out a soft whine, crawling over to rest his head on Jason’s feet. Yarrow waddled over to flop on top of the dog, her purr loud in the silence of the room.

“You don’t have to float alone,” you told him, pulling back enough to look at him, brush your thumb over the scar on his jaw. “If you want to tell me things… I’ll listen, Jason.”

“Same goes to you,” he murmured back, leaning into your touch. “We’re in this together.”

“Yes.” You smiled, feeling fondness unfurl in your chest like a flower in bloom. “We are.”

It was nice, the mutual understanding of companionship. No strings attached, just… him being there for you, and you being there for him. Cradled in his arms, listening to the soft song that he hummed as he rocked you, you let yourself drift a little bit closer to earth, knowing that you had a fellow traveler to turn to, when you began to float too far once more.

\---

When Nanashi materialized next to you, you did not jump in surprise. Not anymore. You’d gotten used to the very slight pull you felt, just moments before she appeared. Like calling to like, as she’d once said. Sitting on the low branch of a tree with Yarrow in your lap, you glanced over at her when she materialized, laying across the branch next to you, pipe in hand.

“I was hoping for a bit more progress over these last couple of days,” she said, blowing out a ring of smoke. “I wanted to get back to Gotham within the next week.”

“I understand that,” you told her, turning back to watch Jason. “But Jason insisted we take it slow.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” she purred.

The man in question was bent over the hood of the truck, sleeves rolled up as he looked at the engine. There’d been an odd rattling noise as he was driving that he wanted to check out. You hadn’t minded the excuse to take a break, to enjoy the brisk spring day and watch him at work. It was… pleasing, to see his arms thick with veins, smeared with oil, brow creased with concentration. And his jeans _were_ a bit tighter than usual… Clearing your throat, you shook your head. You turned your attention back to the purring familiar in your lap, hoping that your loose hair fell forward enough to hide the flush in your cheeks.

Oh, but Nanashi knew. Of course, she knew. Nothing could be hidden from her, not from those sharp eyes. The little hum she let out, her own eyes lingering on him told you that she’d found you out. She took a long drag off of her pipe, letting the smoke trickle from her nose, the corners of her deep red lips.

“It seems that the trip back is not the only thing he’s insisted on taking slow,” she drawled.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered, curling your fingers in the sleeves of your sweater.

“There’s no shame in taking your time,” she continued, letting one long leg dangle from the branch. “In fact, I think it’s quite good.”

You did not want to take the bait. Did not want to talk to your mother, still a stranger, about whatever changes you’d seen in your relationship with Jason. No, you wanted to keep those tucked away, private. You had seen the way she teased others, did not want her sharp tongue turned against you. Not when you still felt so raw, peeled open for any person to see.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you told her, voice tight.

“You are my daughter,” she shot back. “Anything related to you is my business.”

“That didn’t seem to be the case for most of my life.” You didn’t know where the ugly venom coating your words came from, the anger that was beginning to well in your chest. But something about the situation, her tone, had dredged up some ugly part of your soul. “You only started to care when it posed a threat to you.”

Nanashi heaved an aggravated sigh, the sound only further infuriating you. It felt dismissive, in the worst possible way.

“I’ve already told you, child, I did not even know that you existed until—”

“You didn’t care if I existed until you knew that Azrael was chasing me and the Order wanted me back,” you snapped, turning your head to glare at her. “You just took the words of a dangerous religious cult at face value not because you believed them, but because it was easier for you to not have to take care of your child, to pretend that I didn’t exist when it suited you best.”

“Child—”

“I have a name!” You were much louder than you’d ever been, that little pool of venom exploding inside of you. “Why won’t you use it?”

Nanashi blinked, visibly surprised by your anger. She sat up, resting her pipe on her knee as she frowned at you.

“Sweet girl, you have a nickname, one given to you by a man that does not take into account your ancestry—”

“I didn’t know!” You had to take a deep breath, wincing at the pain that radiated through your side. “I… how could I have been given a name that took my ancestry into account when I didn’t even know where I came from? The only thing I knew was that my father was dead and he was a Nephilim. That’s it. Jason was the first to take the proper steps to help me become comfortable with being given a name. I took it from him. It was a gift.”

“I… respect that.” She started to reach for you, brow furrowed. “But I want to give you a proper name to go by.”

“I don’t want a name from you.” You slapped her hand away, felt the sting of welling tears at the back of your eyes. “I don’t want to be like you. I want to be me. On my own terms.”

“My goal is not to change you. Or make you into someone… some _thing_ like me. Far from that.” Her face had closed off, voice flat. “The last thing that I would ever want is for you to become me. I would not wish that on even my worst enemies. I just… I want to give you a life and a family. To teach you about where you come from, at least on my side. I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to tell you about your father. That may be a mystery you never get to solve. But I can at least give you one part of yourself.”

“Why do you even care about that?” You stared at her, tried to find some piece of humanity in her cold, hard stare. “I thought you only cared about keeping a weapon out of the hands of potential enemies.”

There was a quiet moment, a moment where Nanashi seemed to collect herself. That careful mask she’d worn began to crack, pain trickling out. Just the smallest amount of vulnerability, a crack in the hard shell, but enough. Enough for you to, very suddenly, finally see yourself in her.

“If I’m being honest with you… that was my primary concern. In many ways, it still is. But I wasn’t prepared for you as a person. As an idea, a concept, yes. But the image I’d had of you in my head…” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “It was utterly incorrect. I put too much of myself into my imaginary portrait of you. The more time I spend with you, the more I speak with you… you remind me of Sumiko. I look at you, and I see that same pain. And I don’t know what to do with it. Because I don’t know how to heal you that way. But I want to. I want to heal you, to help you. I want to get you to my wife so that you can find someone who can give you the advice and the support that you need. Because I share far too much in common with your Lazarus. The only difference is that he broke out of his monstrosity.”

Just like that, the bubbling, poisonous anger that you’d felt vanished. All you were left with was confusion. It was the most that she’d ever shown you, the closest you’d come to understanding her not as a force to be reckoned with, but as a person. The mask had slipped, if only for a moment, and you saw a part of her that you weren’t afraid of. A part that could look into herself and acknowledge the ugliness that she showed so frequently.

“Nanashi—”

“I’ll leave you, for the moment.” She sat up, the mask firmly back in place, and gestured towards the truck. When you looked over, you found Jason had turned to face you, storming over with anger in his eyes. “Just… think on my words. When you make your next stop, I’ll have my own nickname for you.”

Before you could respond, she’d disappeared, a few lingering shadows dissolving as Jason finally reached you, wiping at his face with the back of his hand and leaving a smudge of oil on his forehead.

“Are you okay, Delphi?” he asked, glancing around the area, looking for some trace of Nanashi. “You seemed… upset.”

“I’m… fine.” You sighed, let Yarrow clamber her way up to your shoulder, still purring up a storm. “I got angry. That’s all.”

“I could tell.” Shoulders still squared, he didn’t relax, still in protective mode. Ready for a fight.

“Jason.” You nudged at his shoulder with your bare foot, did your best to smile. If you wanted to prevent a future fight between him and your mother, you needed to defuse the situation. “I’m okay. Really. Don’t let me distract you from fixing the truck.”

Catching your ankle, you watched the anger bleed away into a more playful look. Jason gave you a crooked grin, his thumb rubbing circles into the inside of your ankle, your foot still braced on his shoulder.

“What if I want to be distracted?” he asked, voice dropping an octave and sending a shiver down your spine.

“I, um. W-well, if you want… um?” Your face flushed, words failing you as all you could focus on was the heat of his touch, the grin on his face.

“I’m teasing you,” he chuckled, letting go of your ankle and grinning up at you. “But if you do want to come down and give me a little company, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, still a bit flustered. “I… I really don’t want to keep you from anything.”

“Sweetheart.” Jason laughed, shaking his head. “You aren’t keeping me from anything. I can talk to you and work at the same time. Honestly, might work better if I could hear your voice.”

“Oh.” You couldn’t help but smile, bad mood rapidly evaporating. “If… if that’s the case, okay.”

Helping Yarrow down so that she could curl up on Jason’s shoulders, you were surprised when he held his arms open. When you stared down at him, he cleared his throat, giving your ankle a gentle tug.

“Jump down, I’ll catch you,” he mumbled.

Although you were a bit nervous, you had to admit that it would be easier to jump down as opposed to navigating a careful way back down to the ground. Taking a deep breath, you slipped off the branch, letting out a little yelp at the sensation of falling. But Jason caught you easily, chest puffed in pride as he adjusted you in his arms, tucking you closer to his chest. Although you’d expected him to let you down there, to let you walk over to the truck yourself, he instead carried you over himself. You couldn’t help feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and pleasure as he boosted you up to sit on top of the cab of the truck.

“You… you didn’t have to carry me,” you mumbled, hugging your knees to your chest as Schnitzel barked from his spot in the truck bed, trying to hop up to join you. “I could have walked.”

“Oh, I know.” Jason leaned back over the front of the truck, grinning up at you. “I just wanted to.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. Frankly, you weren’t sure how to respond to the sudden shift towards affection he’d shown to you. It had been there before, of course. But now he always seemed to gravitate towards you, would hook his pinky with yours or hold your hand while he was driving, pulled you into embraces when you were alone. Although you’d held hands with him before, hugged him before, even slept beside him before, it still felt like a tectonic shift. Maybe it was the sudden open fondness he showed anytime he so much as glanced as you. Or maybe it was the way your own view had shifted.

More specifically, you sometimes caught yourself gazing at the way his jaw clenched when he was concentrating on a task, the veins in his hands and forearms, the way his muscles moved under his shirt. You had begun to drift into daydreams, little fantasies ripped straight from your dime romance paperbacks. Embarrassing little things that you ripped yourself out of before anyone could catch you, things that even you had to admit you were not yet ready for.

“We’re going to be crossing into Iowa tomorrow, if I can get the truck up and running properly again,” Jason said, ripping you out of your thoughts. “Wisconsin would be a pretty short detour, if you want to see the Great Lakes.”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, thinking of Nanashi, of Sumiko. Of a family, waiting for you. “It sounds nice, but… I don’t know.”

“You’re allowed to do what you want, you know.” He glanced up, wrench in hand. “I know we have a few demons left, but… that doesn’t mean that you can’t live your life. Do something you want to instead of doing what other people want.”

“It’s not just that.” Yarrow hopped up onto your shoulder as you spoke, playing with a few strands of your hair. “Something still feels… wrong. And Azrael is still so close.”

“Azrael is a problem I can deal with. A problem _we_ can deal with.” Turning back to his repairs, he spoke as he worked. “Is the wrong that you feel a demon wrong, or a different kind of wrong?”

“I… I don’t know,” you murmured, another wave of static travelling under your skin, scars prickling. You’d felt it off and on for the last few days, nothing concrete coming from your card readings or even tea leaves. “It’s just wrong. Whatever it is, it’s either far away enough that I can’t get a good grasp on what it wants, or it’s powerful enough that it can mess with my powers, like Caim did.”

Either option was far from ideal. You wouldn’t be able to help him form a plan unless you had a better grasp on whatever trouble was following you. And you knew that even if Nanashi knew, as long as it wasn’t related to the Order or a direct threat to you, she wouldn’t get involved. Reaching under your sweater to grasp Samael’s feather, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Really tried to center yourself, tuning out the sound of Jason rooting around in the engine and Schnitzel barking eagerly. You focused on the slow beat of your heart, slow expanding of your lungs with each breath you took, the tingling burn that radiated up your fingers from where you clutched the archangel’s feather.

_Diodes and electrodes and careful psychic manipulation buried deep within the mind. A father’s sword and ancestral armor. A weapon of the faithful, guided by divine prophecies to recapture a fallen child, now far too dangerous to be left alone. Hatred for the demonic power that the blasphemous pits carry. Another son, burning with a desire for revenge. The sun to the father’s sea. A god who chose to fall with his sire, set upon a path the other son deems righteous. Bargains must be made. The Matron approves of any path that will bring the girl back and reduce further harm to the Sacred Order._

Slowly, you opened your eyes, the scattered visions lingering at the back of your head. When you pulled your hand from the feather, you found your fingers and palm shallowly cut, the edges of the feather razor sharp in the moment you needed it to be. A slight prick of pain, not enough for a full prophecy. But just enough, the feather resting once more against your sternum soft and downy.

“Ah, got it!” Jason crowed, emerging from beneath the hood looking victorious. “That should do it.”

“The truck is good to go?” you asked, quickly yanking the sleeve of your sweater over your bloody hand.

Jason didn’t need to know. Not yet. Not until you’d consulted the cards.

“Should be, yeah. At least enough to get us into the safehouse a couple hours down the road.” Closing up his tool kit, he slammed the hood closed. “The garage there will let me get a better look at it, have some replacements I might need. But the old girl should hold up until we get there.”

“We aren’t going to be staying in a motel?”

“Nope.” Pulling a rag from his back pocket, Jason wiped the oil from his hands and forearms. “I… thought it might be nice for you to have a good homecooked meal. Not more diner food. And a more comfortable bed, too.”

“I don’t mind, but if you need the garage, I won’t complain.” You watched him return the tool kit to the bed of the truck, Schnitzel leaping out to run in circles around Jason. “Nanashi will likely stay with us if we are in a safehouse, though.”

Jason heaved a heavy sigh, resting his forehead against the side of the truck.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll do whatever she’s done these past few nights and stay somewhere else,” he mumbled, finally straightening and looking up at you. “A bit of time alone with you would be nice.”

Flushing, you gave a tiny nod. Firmly shoving aside any impure thoughts that threatened to raise their heads, you slid down the front of the truck and onto the hood, hopping off and curling your toes in the grass. Yarrow hopped to the ground, bounding over to play with Schnitzel, the big dog letting her climb up onto his back as he ran out into the field. Once you returned to Gotham, you wouldn’t be able to experience things like this again. Wouldn’t be able to climb trees and run in fields of wildflowers, barefoot and your jeans rolled up to your knees. While you did miss some of your clients (and hoped that some of them would return, even though you’d disappeared off the face of the earth for a few weeks), you weren’t sure you wanted to go home. Not yet. There was something thrilling about the wilderness, a freedom to it that you couldn’t experience in the concrete sprawl of the city.

You walked around to stand in front of Jason, frowning as he rolled his sleeves back down. Leaning against the passenger door, you chewed your lip for a moment before deciding to speak up.

“Can… can I see your rag for a moment?” you asked, voice soft. “You missed a couple spots on your face.”

“Hm?” Jason looked over at you, then down at the dirty rag, before a sly grin curled on his lips. “Sure. Appreciate it.”

Instead of simply handing you the rag and letting you move over to wipe at his face, he instead moved to stand in front of you, placing it in your hand before he leaned closer. His hands were braced on either side of your head, caging you in, a playful glint in his eye. Careful to use the hand that wasn’t cut, you swallowed a lump in your throat and reached up, careful to use the clean parts of the rag so you wouldn’t dirty his face further. Trying to keep your fingers steady and knowing that your face was a bright shade of red, you wiped the last smudge of oil from his cheekbone, clutching the rag to your chest and looking away from him.

“G-got it all…” you whispered, heart fluttering as he leaned closer, barely a breath away from you.

“Need to make sure to give you a proper thank you,” he purred, voice low.

Tipping your chin up, he leaned in to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut as you dropped the rag so that you could curl your fingers into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. Jason gladly pressed up against you, his fingers moving to curl into your hair, easily deepening the kiss. Despite the prickling of your scars, the shallow cut in your hand, the disaster waiting just over the horizon, you abandoned yourself to the electric tingle of the kiss, the way it stole your breath and filled your chest with a million blooming flowers. You allowed yourself a selfish moment to indulge in the way you could feel his heart pounding against your chest, the barely-there press of his thigh between your legs, the scrape of his stubble as he pressed lingering kisses to your jaw and throat. Not quite crossing an unspoken line, but toeing it, his breath warm against your flushed skin when he finally pulled back. You had to take a moment to catch your breath, fingers slipping from his shirt when he took a step back, clearing his throat and letting his hot gaze linger on you for just a moment too long.

“We should get back on the road,” he murmured, tearing his eyes away from you and whistling for Schnitzel. “If we make good time, we should get to the safehouse before dark.”

“That’s… that’s fine,” you whispered, still leaning back against the truck, breathless. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Shaking your head to clear it, you opened the passenger door just in time for Schnitzel to leap into the truck, Yarrow still clinging to his back. You climbed in after them, retrieved the copy of _The Tombs of Atuan_ you’d left on the dash, and let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding when Jason turned on the ignition, radio playing softly as he pulled back out onto the road. When he silently placed his hand palm up on the gear shift, you just as quietly placed your hand in his, fingers lacing with his own.

For the moment, you let yourself be happy, basked in the quiet affection. Disaster could wait. You wanted to give Jason just a bit of happiness, a bit of peace. At least until you reached the safehouse and confirmed your visions with a reading, you could keep the fact that Azrael could be teaming up with a demon to yourself.

\---

Unfortunately, Nanashi had been waiting for you at the safehouse. How she always seemed to know where you were and where you were heading was something you weren’t sure you wanted an answer to, but you reluctantly accepted that she was not going to be leaving. Although she’d resumed her usual teasing of Jason, there was something in her that had shifted, at least towards you. When Jason slunk out to the garage to get a proper look at the truck after dinner, an awkward, strained silence fell between you and your mother. Putting away the leftovers from dinner and washing the dishes, you tried your best to ignore her, but found it impossible. You sighed, looking up at her as you dried the last plate with a dishtowel, sleeves still rolled up.

“Well?” you asked. “Are you just going to keep staring at me, or are you going to say something?”

Grimacing, she leaned more heavily against the counter, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I wanted to… apologize for upsetting you,” she bit out, looking as if the words were painful to say. “That wasn’t my intention.”

Stacking the freshly dried plate with the others you’d already taken care of, you set the dish cloth down and frowned.

“You’re very bad at apologizing,” you told her.

“Yes, I’ve been made _very_ aware of that fact,” she spat. “But I also don’t want to permanently damage my relationship with you before it has a chance to really begin.”

You would have been well within your rights to turn her away. To tell her that she had no right to so suddenly insert herself into your life as if her presence itself didn’t sometimes cause you pain. There was almost 20 years of misery that she had to answer for, a lifetime of abandonment and suffering. But the omamori that Sumiko had given you was warm in the pocket of your jeans, a quiet comfort that you’d tried to keep on your person since Jason had returned it to you. There were also her own gifts to you, the kodachi, which had helped you fight two demons already, and Yarrow, who had fallen asleep curled up with Schnitzel. Although the ugly part of you wanted to push her away, to make her work for forgiveness, a much larger part of you desperately wanted the family that she would finally provide you with.

“I accept your apology,” you finally sighed, draining the warm, soapy water from the sink.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Nanashi said, promptly returning once more to her usual self and walking over to grab your wrist, eyes narrowed as she stared at the fresh scabs on your hand. “Do you feel like sharing what it is you’ve seen?”

“I don’t have anything concrete yet,” you mumbled, jerking out of her grip and rolling your sleeves back down. “I need to consult my cards to make sure.”

“Then go ahead and do so.” Nanashi stepped back, jerking her head towards where your bag still lay on the couch. “Best to get it taken care of while your Lazarus is busy with other tasks, in case another cut is required to get a fuller picture of what we face and what must be done.”

She had a point. If you waited until Jason was finished with the truck, there was a chance he would stop you from making a cut if you needed to. The itch hadn’t grown painful, not yet, but there was no guarantee that a spread wouldn’t trigger it. Slumping, you shuffled past her, a cold, hollow feeling in your chest. You were so tired. Tired of the constant threats, tired of your beaten and battered body, tired of the pain. But you couldn’t let that distract you from what had to be done. Retrieving your old deck from your bag, you sat on the floor and let your tingling fingertips guide you into making a five-card spread. Nanashi stood behind you, cold eyes observing you as you turned over each card.

_The Sun. Justice. Ten of Swords. Five of Wands. Eight of Swords._

Despite the presence of The Sun, a card that normally held positive meaning, it was a bleak spread. Taking a deep breath, you placed your fingers on each card, one by one.

“The Sun,” you murmured, “for the fallen god of a sun cult, wanting not only to fulfill his duty to Hell and send the Lazarus to Death, but to avenge his fish god father and slay the creature responsible for Dagon’s death.” A brush of your fingertips over the next card. “Justice, for Azrael, who sees his hunt for me as a righteous path because of the Program. Old brainwashing taking over once more, making him their sword, an obedient tool of war.” Then to the next, heart sinking. “Ten of Swords. Destruction, hopelessness… defeat. A fight lost.” The next, fingers trembling. “Five of Wands. Anxiety, conflict, and struggle. The fight that will be lost, a battle without victory.” And then the final card, your scattered visions slowly beginning to click together. “Eight of Swords. A card of entrapment. No escape, unless one moves and accepts the pain of being cut by many swords.”

“A litany of bad omens,” Nanashi sighed, coming to crouch next to you. “What do you see?”

“The son of Dagon has made a temporary agreement with Azrael. They both wish to put me and Jason out of commission, so they walk the same path, despite Azrael being an agent of the Sacred Order. They will plot and attack in such a way that the fight cannot be won. I… I can’t see if it will be a joint ambush, or if one will attack while the other takes what it is that they want,” you said, voice shaking. “I believe that it will be the demon who attacks, however. Azrael will take what it is that he wants.”

“Meaning that he will take you.”

“Yes.” You closed your eyes, arms wrapped around yourself. “He will succeed in his mission.”

“Your visions are not absolute, you know.” Nanashi had swept the cards back into your deck when you opened your eyes again, carefully tapping them back into their box. “The future is not set in stone. If we work with what you know, if you can see any other details of this attack, it’s possible that I can keep Azrael from taking you.”

“My visions always come to pass.” You shook your head, fingers curling into your bruised side, sending a bolt of pain through you. “Always. And even if we do change it so that I’m not taken, there’s a chance of a negative ripple in response. You could be killed, or Jason. Destiny always demands equivalent exchange.”

“Do not resolve yourself to this fate.” Nanashi turned to face you, resting a hand over yours. “We will find a way. But… rest, for the moment. The Lazarus will return soon. You should tell him what you’ve seen so that you can provide further information in the morning.”

“I will… I’ll do what I can,” you sighed. You didn’t want to deliver _even more_ bad news to Jason. Just for once, you wanted to be a source of joy instead of pain and sorrow. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to call my wife to update her on the situation, and I’m going to think of what I can do for you.” Nanashi stood, her gaze thoughtful. “You have far too much faith in Destiny being immutable, _himawari._ Not even fate can control those who take their own lives in their hands.”

“Hima…wari?” you asked, blinking up at her.

“My nickname that I promised I would come up for you.” She grinned, looking quite proud of herself. “It means sunflower in my native tongue. Seeing as it’s your favorite flower and they represent strength, adoration, and unwavering faith, I thought it would be fitting for you.”

“Oh.” You blinked again, felt a bit of the dread in your gut bleed away into warmth. “I… thank you, Nanashi.”

“You’re welcome, _himawari._ ” She nodded, glanced towards the hall that lead off to the garage. “If I may give you some unwarranted advice, be honest with your Lazarus. The more he knows, the better equipped he will be to deal with the coming threat.”

You gave her a small nod in acknowledgement, watching as she slipped away into the shadows, the only sign that she had even been there a lingering glow from her eyes that disappeared once you blinked. Heaving a sigh, you slowly tipped over until you were laying on your back, staring up at the ceiling. How were you even going to begin to explain to Jason the situation that you would find yourselves in at some point in the near future? No matter how you worded it, you knew that he wouldn’t take it well. You wanted to focus more on the danger to him, try to shift that focus away from yourself. He had to come first. And you feared that if he knew about the possibility of you being taken back to the Order, he would only put himself in danger. The memory of what had been done to his arm was still fresh, images that tormented you frequently. The last thing you wanted was for him to be injured yet again, for all of your hard work to be undone. But you couldn’t lie. He would see right through you.

Distantly, you heard the door to the garage open and felt your heart sink. Schnitzel immediately got up, his nails clicking against the linoleum of the kitchen floor as he trotted off to greet Jason. His chuckle was much closer than you thought it would be, and when you turned your head, you saw that he’d already stopped halfway to the kitchen, scooping Schnitzel up in his arms like the massive dog weighed nothing. Yarrow announced herself with a loud chirp before settling down on your chest, drawing Jason’s attention.

“You’ve got that look,” he said, quirking an eyebrow as he set Schnitzel down to come and crouch next to you. “What’s up?”

“I didn’t know I had a look,” you mumbled, absentmindedly petting Yarrow.

“You do,” he chuckled, tapping the bridge of your nose. “You scrunch up your nose. Like a bunny. It’s cute.”

Scrunching up your nose further, you frowned up at him. You only succeeded in making him laugh again, getting a second tap to the nose before he rested his arms on his knees.

“Seriously though,” he said. “What’s the reason behind the look?”

“I had a vision,” you admitted, turning your head to stare back up at the ceiling. You were glad that Jason had crouched on your blind side, so you would be spared of seeing however he would react to the news. “I consulted the cards, and it seems that the next demon you have to face is going to be working with Azrael. The fight… or well, one of the fights is going to be lost.”

“Which fight?” he asked.

“… The one with Azrael.” You closed your eyes, praying that he wouldn’t react badly. “There is… a possibility that he might take me.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.” When you turned to look at him in open surprise, he snorted. “What? We’ve been dealing with literal demons up to this point. If we can take care of them, we can take care of a secret society’s test tube baby super soldier.”

“But Jason, I _saw_ that fight not going in our favor.” You sat up, letting Yarrow clamber up to sit on your shoulder again. “My visions always come true. Every single one. It’s going to happ—”

“Delphi.” He took your face in his hands, interrupting you before you could start babbling. “I don’t care what it is that you see. There is no way in hell that I’m letting him take you. Okay? I’m going to put that out into this shitty little universe. So when you wake up tomorrow, and you try to dig for more details about what’s going to happen, that’s going to change. I won’t let it happen. Ever.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He shook his head, squishing your cheeks. “Don’t go down that road of catastrophizing, ok? I’m telling you that it’s not going to happen. You’re going to be safe.”

“You don’t know that,” you murmured, words muffled.

“I do know that,” Jason sighed. “Have a little faith in me. Okay? I know… I know I’ve fucked up a lot lately. But I’m good at what I do. Just believe in me, and let me protect you.”

There was an edge to his voice, and you realized that he was insulted, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Jason took pride in his work, in what he did, and failing both in Colorado and in Wyoming to keep you safe had likely been an enormous blow to his ego. His natural empathy guided him towards being a protector, towards using the pain he felt from the people around him to fuel his desire to protect them from further harm. Feeling guilty, you rested your hands over his, letting out a soft sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I do believe in you, Jason. I’m just afraid.”

“I know you are.” He grinned, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “But I’m not. And trust me when I say that there is nothing on earth, in heaven, or in hell that could keep me from protecting you. Okay?”

“Okay.” You tried to take some comfort in his confidence, to pluck a bit of his bravery and press it into your own heart. “Okay.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured fondly, pulling back enough to press a kiss to your temple. “Want to help me feed Schnitzel and get a few things set up for the night?”

“Sure.”

When he stood, you let him help you up as well, Yarrow easily leaping from your shoulder to his. Reaching up to give her a little scratch behind the ears, he started to move towards his bags before he froze.

“Wait…” He glanced at your familiar. “We, uh. We don’t have cat food or a litter box or anything. Should I head into town to get those for her?”

You turned to Yarrow, giving her a questioning look.

 _Yarrow only needs a window open. Yarrow will take care of Yarrow_ , she purred, closing her eyes and butting her head against Jason’s hand.

“No, Yarrow says we just need to leave a window open for her,” you relayed to him. “She’s not a normal cat, so she can take care of herself.”

“She told you that?” he asked, glancing between you and the purring kitten on his shoulder.

“Yes, she’s very smart,” you murmured, smiling at the familiar, who looked awfully proud of herself. “But you don’t need to worry about her. I’ll make sure that she is able to come in and out of the house.”

Although he looked a little bit uneasy, Jason gave a small nod, setting Yarrow down on the floor so he could pull out what he needed. The familiar let out an angry chirp, but was quickly pulled out of her bad mood by Schnitzel, who licked her head and lowered his own head so that she could clamber up on top of him. Setting up a food and water bowl for Schnitzel, who immediately dug into his kibble, Jason checked the doors and windows in the main rooms, the tension in his shoulders only bleeding away once he’d confirmed they were all locked and secure. You had put all of the plates, silverware, and dishes back where they belonged in the kitchen, carefully wiping down all the surfaces and folding the dishtowel to put back in the drawer you’d taken it from.

You did not know who the safehouse belonged to, but considering the state the one in Colorado had been left in, you wanted to try to at least leave this one in the same shape it had been in when you’d arrived. Bone deep, you knew that the demon and Azrael would not attack you in this house. You did not know when they would move, when they would strike, but it would not be there. At least for the night, you were safe. It should have brought you some sense of security, of comfort. But it only set you on edge, made you frustrated.

How were you supposed to change what fate had laid out in the cards if you didn’t even know when the attack would happen? It would have been easy to grab one of the knives, slice your palm open and see what else it brought. But the static under your skin had died out, and you knew that even if you did harm yourself, it would not bring you any further knowledge than what you had gained so far. It would have to wait.

When you wandered out of the kitchen, you found Jason leaning against the back door, watching Schnitzel as he ran in the backyard, sniffing at patches of vegetation. You rested your forehead against his back with a quiet sigh, heard him let out a soft chuckle.

“You’re still worried, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Of course,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around him.

“It’d sound pretty douchey of me to just say ‘hey, stop worrying’,” Jason sighed, resting a hand over yours. “So I’m not even gonna try. But try to focus on the good things, in the moment. Come down from space just a bit, if you can, little cosmonaut.”

Letting out a quiet hum, you closed your eyes, tried to focus on how solid he felt, the feverish warmth that always seemed to radiate from him. Focus on the good things. You had to focus on the good things. Schnitzel came running past you, skidding on the linoleum and nearly crashing into a wall. Turning along with Jason, you stared at the dog, who shook his head before looking cheerfully up at you, tail wagging furiously. The laughter bubbled up before you could stop it, going from a giggle to hysterical, wheezing gasps. You let go of Jason, wrapped your arms around yourself and wheezed, ribs aching as you struggled to catch your breath. He had started laughing as well, closed the door behind him and crouched so Schnitzel could trot over and lick at his face.

“See?” Jason finally managed to wheeze, wiping a tear from his eye as he bit back another laugh. “It’s the little things. Good boy, Schnitzel. Oh, very good boy.”

Finally calming yourself down, you walked over to give Schnitzel a scratch behind the ears. Jason stood and clicked his tongue, sending Schnitzel off down the hall. He retrieved sleep clothes from his bag, glancing back at you.

“Ready to head to bed?” he asked.

“Yeah.” You nodded, giving him a weak smile. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a second.”

Waiting until he’d disappeared down the hall, you took a deep breath and turned to the back window. Perhaps it was just because you were already feeling so paranoid. Perhaps you were simply imagining things. But, for a moment, it had felt like someone had been watching you. Stepping closer to the window, you stared out into the darkness, tried to find something, anything out there. But there was no movement, no sign of anyone crouching in the shadows. Yarrow chirped, sitting near your bag and pawing at it.

“Ah, sorry,” you sighed. “Just… imagining things.”

Even if it had just been your imagination, you still made sure to close the curtains before you headed to bed. After all, you really couldn’t be too safe.

\---

Although the sun had not yet risen, you were already up, still bleary from the poor sleep you’d gotten, constantly waking from nightmares and visions that faded the moment your eyes opened. Jason had made coffee a priority, for himself and for you, while you sat in the dining room, staring out at the backyard, where Schnitzel and Yarrow were both playing. Thankfully, it did not take long for Jason to bring out a cup of coffee for you, already mixed with the perfect amount of cream and sugar. You mumbled a thank you, sipping at it while he set down a kit Dr. Arcane had given you before you’d left her house.

“Okay.” He sighed, drinking a bit of coffee before he pulled a chair over in front of yours and sat down. “I think it’s time to take out the stitches in your wrist and your stomach. I’d also like to change out the bandages on your shoulder… if that’s okay.”

“Mm?” You blinked at him, momentarily confused by the nervous edge to his voice. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“You’ll have to, uh… take your shirt off,” Jason mumbled, focusing on pulling out antibiotic balms and fresh bandages. “And if you’re not comfortable with that, I can see if I can find Nanashi and get her to do it for you instead.”

“Oh.” You blinked again, but as the words sank in, you finally found yourself feeling much more awake. Clearing your throat, you set down your mug, fingers curling in the bottom of your shirt. “I… I don’t mind.”

“It shouldn’t take too long, so we should be able… to…”

Jason trailed off, jaw clenched as you pulled your shirt off, wincing as the movement sent a dull wave of pain through your shoulder and your ribs. Nervous, you stared down at your lap. It was only so that Jason could tend to your wounds, remove your stitches, but… But it didn’t keep you from flushing, aware of how bare you were. Unlike when he had tended to the cut on your ribs and on your back, you were facing him as well. The sports bra you wore suddenly did not feel like enough, your hands curling into fists on your lap. You heard Jason take a deep breath, and when you glanced up, he was pointedly looking at your face.

“Okay,” he said, voice strained. “We’ll start out with your wrist.”

Moving slowly, watching your expression closely, he carefully took your hand, scooting close enough that his legs stretched out on either side of yours. Setting a clean cloth down, he rested your wrist on his thigh and carefully swiped the skin with a bit of rubbing alcohol. His eyes narrowed in concentration, his jaw clenching as he carefully cut each stitch, pulling them out with tweezers and setting each bit of thread on the table. He cleaned the freshly stitchless wound once more with rubbing alcohol and rubbed some antibiotic ointment into the skin. Despite how large his hands were, despite how calloused, despite all the scars on his knuckles and the roughness he usually spoke with, he handled you carefully. Like you could break apart at any time. It made your heart race, face flushing further as he bandaged your wrist and finally glanced back up at you.

“Doing okay? Didn’t hurt, did it?” he asked.

You shook your head, fingers curling as his thumb brushed over one of the branching scars on your palm, the skin tingling in response.

“No,” you whispered. “A bit of a pull, but… no pain.”

“Good.” Grinning, he shoved his chair back, setting the cloth down on the table. When he carefully guided you to spread your legs, settling in between them, you swore that your heart was going to explode right out of your chest. “I… know this is a bit awkward. But it’s easier to get to the stitches this way. Just bear with it for a second, okay?”

You didn’t mind the position, actually. There was something a bit… thrilling about it. He guided you to sit on the very edge of the chair, leaning back so that your stomach was at a better angle. When he rested his hand just above the wound, you had to look away, staring up at the ceiling and doing your best to ignore the thick heat pooling low in your belly. You did your best to take deep, even breaths, focusing on the gentle tug of each suture being removed, instead of the feeling of his breath washing over your skin, his head bent low. You tried to focus on the distant sound of Schnitzel barking, on the warmth of your bond to Yarrow, instead of his hand splayed over your belly, pressing gently, keeping you still.

_What would it feel like if he pressed you down to the bed like that, so gentle, so careful, attention focused on you, on the heat running through your veins, not sutures in your flesh?_

You nearly choked at the thought, biting your lip and trying to focus on the little patterns in the ceiling, counting every mote of dust that was floating through the air. Whatever it took to distract yourself from unsavory thoughts, from things that you knew you weren’t sure you were fully ready for, things you really did not have any experience with. Not only that, but you didn’t want to reduce Jason to just a figment of wild fantasies. He was a person, with feelings, and the last thing you wanted to do was objectify him. For all you knew, he was just as uncomfortable with crossing that invisible line, wanted to toe it just as quietly as you had. Love, you knew, did not always lead to lust. When he sat back, cleaning the wound and bandaging it, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“Just… gotta get that shoulder.” Jason’s voice was more strained than it had been before, but when you looked back at him, he’d stood and turned away. However, you swore the tips of his ears were red, his fingers fumbling with the tin of special balm that Dr. Arcane had given you. “Uh, if you’ll just turn around, face away from me. I’ll work as fast as I can.”

“It’s fine.” Your own voice was soft as you got up, turning around so you were sitting backwards in the chair, toes curling against the cold floor. “I appreciate you doing this for me.”

“Hey, gotta put some of that knowledge to use doing something other than patching myself up, right?” He tried to joke, but you could still feel a tension in the air. You heard the scrape of chair legs on the floor, the quiet creak as he sat down. When he rested a hand between your shoulder blades you flinched, startled by the sudden touch. “Delphi?”

“I’m good,” you squeaked, holding onto the back of the chair and trying to keep your breathing even. “Just… jumpy, I guess.”

“Deep breaths, sweetheart. It’s just me,” he chuckled, but there was still that edge. He shifted closer to you, carefully peeled away the poor bandaging you’d done the day before. A sharp inhale told you what you’d already known; that the wound was still ugly, still looked as painful as it felt. “Jesus, Delphi…”

“It looks worse than it is,” you lied. The flesh was still mangled, the dark scabs ugly, doing nothing to hide how deeply Dagon’s teeth had sunk into your shoulder. The biggest benefit of the salve Dr. Arcane had given you was numbing it, keeping it from being a constant source of burning pain. After what seemed an eternity of silence, you looked back at him, eyes wide. “Jason…?”

Brow furrowed, he met your gaze. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head, ran a hand over his jaw.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered. It was clear that it was not nothing, that something troubled him. He was deflecting. “Look ahead. I need to put some antiseptic on the wounds first.”

“Jason.” You frowned, letting your hands fall to rest in your lap, twisting in the chair as much as you could. “It’s not nothing. You… you know that it’s not your fault this happened to me, right?”

“I wasn’t there to help you. To protect you. I let you go out there and face down a fucking monster even though you have no combat training.” Jason let out a bitter laugh, still not looking at you, focused on pouring rubbing alcohol onto another clean cloth. “It’s absolutely my fault. I should’ve been the one to face Dagon. But I was just fucking _useless—”_

“Jason, stop.” Your voice was sharper than you’d meant it to be. But it got his attention, made him finally look at you, just as surprised as you were at your tone. “I’m not a child. I made that choice. And I’d do it again, if it meant keeping you out of danger. I know that you want to protect me, that seeing me injured hurts you, hurts your ego. But I need to do some things myself.”

Jason stared at you. You stared back, refusing to back down. Finally, he sighed, shoulders slumping.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I… It really… Fuck, I just wish you hadn’t gone through so much for me. I don’t—”

“Don’t say it.” You cut him off sharply again, turning to sit sideways in the chair so you could see him better. “I already told you. You were worth it. And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it. But if… if seeing this injury is going to upset you that much, you don’t have to help me bandage it. I can do it myself.”

“No offense, Delphi, but you really suck at patching yourself up.” His short laugh was not unkind, a fondness in his eyes as he leaned towards you. “Let me do this for you. Let me take care of you. I’ll be fine. Just another bullshit wounded male ego. I’ll get over it eventually.”

You weren’t sure about that, didn’t want him to be so dismissive of his own pain. But you also didn’t want to press the issue any further. Time was precious, and you needed to be out of the safehouse and back on the road as soon as you could. Letting it go, you turned back around, heaving a long sigh. Jason brushed your hair over your other shoulder, one hand resting on the slope of your throat as he scooted closer to you once more.

“This might hurt,” he warned, before dabbing at the wound with the antiseptic.

And oh, it did hurt. Sent fractured visions sliding along the back of your eyes, too fleeting to really absorb, teeth sinking into your lip to keep back a pained whine. But he was quick, moving from the antiseptic to the numbing salve quickly, his fingers featherlight as they spread the thick green paste over your shoulder. Just as you had caught your breath, centered yourself once more, he’d wiped his fingers clean and was bandaging the wound already. You slumped when he was done, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Good girl.” The praise sent a shiver down your spine, made you clutch the back of the chair tighter when he kissed a spot just behind your ear that had your toes curling. “Thank you for letting me take care of you.”

 _Oh._ You had to bite your lip again, the words he’d chosen so innocent. But they had you plunging back into daydreams once again, ones where his fingers skimmed up your ribs, his kisses trailed lower, skin pressed against skin—

“O-of course,” you managed to say, tremor in your voice as you fixed your hair. You nearly yelped when his hands rested on your hips, your heart hammering a desperate rhythm when he leaned forward to rest his cheek against the top of your head. Calm. You had to keep calm. “I should be thanking y-you…”

You could feel him warm at your back, not yet pressing against you, but so terribly close. His thumbs brushed over your skin, slow, gentle. Like he was savoring it, his breathing even as he dipped down to let his forehead rest on your uninjured shoulder. You tried to remain relaxed, tried to ignoring the way your skin burned, a strange desire running through your veins. When he pressed a kiss to the flushed skin of your neck, you barely bit back a startled moan. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you moved to lean back against him. It was easy, the press of his chest against your back solid and comforting.

“I’ll always be willing to take care of you,” he whispered into your skin, a rasp in his voice. “Any way you want me to.”

And there it was. A quiet step over the line. Just enough to put the offer out in the open. Enough for you to know that there was an echo of your own desire in him. It thrilled you, knowing that he wanted you. That even with all your scars and imperfections, he desired you. But it was also terrifying. A quiet pressure that you could feel yourself bending under. You weren’t sure if you were ready. Emotionally, mentally, physically… Before you knew it, you were spiraling, thoughts racing as you tried to figure out how you were supposed to respond. How you let him know that you wanted him, thought about him, but weren’t ready. Not yet. You just needed a little time. Time that you might not have, but that you weren’t sure you could rush through.

“I’m not saying this to put any pressure on you,” he said, deftly answering your silence. “I don’t… There’s no rush, okay? We’ll take this a step at a time, as slow as you need. No pressure. I have all the patience in the world. I didn’t mean to say it to make you feel like… like you have to, I just—”

“I know.” You finally spoke up, voice trembling. “Please be patient with me. But… I’ll get there.”

Heaving a sigh of relief, he pressed one last kiss to your shoulder before pulling away. When you turned in your chair, he’d slumped back in his own, head tipped back and hands over his face. Biting back a smile, you pulled your shirt back on, careful not to agitate your shoulder any further. When you stood up, he dropped his hands, cracking one eye open as you picked up both coffee mugs.

“Come on,” you told him, nodding to the back door. “Let’s watch the sunrise.”

Tension in his face bleeding away into a warm smile, Jason stood, taking his mug from you. Although you didn’t have much time, you would give yourself just a small break. Just for a moment, you stood in the backyard, watching the first bleeding light of the sun banish the early morning grey. Sipping at your coffee, you let Jason pull you into his side.

For a few minutes, you were simply a girl in love, watching the sunrise and absorbing a rare moment of peace.

\---

Sitting in the back corner of a library, you skimmed through one of the books you’d found on demonology and pre-Christian theology, trying to find the name of the fallen sun god you’d seen in your visions. Nanashi reclined in the window sill next to you, scrolling through her phone as you flipped through the pages. Jason had gone to another section of the library, looking for local maps and guides to the area. Sitting back, you let out a heavy sigh, rubbing at your eyes.

“Already getting tired?” Nanashi asked, not bothering to glance up from her phone.

“I know it’s in this specific book somewhere,” you mumbled, readjusting how you were sitting, back up against the wall. “I can feel it. It’s just… a lot to flip through.”

“You know, there is a simpler solution.” Finally glancing over at you, she set her phone down in her lap. “If you are getting too frustrated, the Lazarus won’t be here to catch you.”

“No.” You shook your head, frowning up at her. “I can’t just… keep falling back on that solution. I have other ways. “

“I know you do.” She grinned, flashing her sharp teeth. “It is admirable that you are not taking the easy path. I simply wanted to point out the other option.”

You narrowed your eyes, but did not argue with her. It was hard, really, to tell what she was thinking. She preferred it that way, you knew. But you wished that you could figure out which road she wanted you to take, which solution she, in all her ancient wisdom, would have gone for. It would never be that easy. In the very short time you’d known her, you’d come to understand that she was not there to guide your path. She was simply there to be there, to protect you in ways she saw fit. To be a guardian, but not much else.

Going back to the book, you continued to thumb through the pages, pausing only when the soft buzz under your fingertips turned into a sharp static, tingling all the way down to your bones. Abruptly, you flipped the page and knew you had found what it was that you needed.

“Here,” you said, shifting the book on your lap so that Nanashi could look at it over your shoulder. “This is him.”

“Ba’al, hm?” Nanashi sighed, slipping out of the window so she could sit next to you on the floor. “Shame it has to be him. I never liked Dagon, but Ba’al isn’t so bad.”

“You know him?” you asked, staring at her.

“Of course I do. Distant cousins. I was still very young when I first met him.” She shook her head. “Shame that he’s fallen to this point. But there’s nothing else to do.”

It had not really occurred to you before that Nanashi would know the demons that were hunting Jason. But it made sense. Although she was not really a demon, her nature was close enough to one that she surely would have brushed elbows with them before. She did not seem upset about it, though. Perhaps because her life had become distant from them. Or, perhaps, because she simply did not care. You didn’t know which option was more upsetting.

“Can you… help with him?” you queried, voice soft.

“If you are asking if I can somehow talk him down, no. Although I don’t think he had much love for his father, he’s still duty bound to try to take your life as an answer to what you have done.” She shrugged, still studying the illustration in the book. “However, if you are asking for me to help the Lazarus eliminate this threat… I’ll consider it. If only because he is out for your life.”

“Thank you,” you sighed. It was more than you could ask for, simply having her consider it. She was a powerful ally, and if what you’d seen before came to pass… Jason would need her in order to face down the last of his enemies. “We should find Jason. I can locate where we need to go, the safest place for us to be.”

“The sooner that you can get back on the road, the better. The threat closes in.” Nanashi helped you stand, taking some of the books you’d chosen and putting them back. “I believe we’re running out of time.”

“Yes.” You could feel it in your bones, that warning buzz slowly growing with each passing minute. Time was running out, and you needed to prepare for what was going to come to pass. “We are.”

With no further time to spare, you hunted down Jason, finding him sitting at a table with maps spread in front of him. Instinctively, you moved to hold him, resting your cheek on the top of his head. A small attempt at comfort, you knew, but you felt the tension bleed away from him at your touch, a long sigh escaping him. When you pulled back, he looked up at you, brow still creased with concern.

“Find anything?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, turning your attention to the maps, feeling that quiet tingle in your fingertips again. “It’s Ba’al that you’ll have to face next.”

“A god of fertility in Carthage and worshipped by sun cults. The sun of Dagon.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair and slumping in the chair. “Great.”

“You’ll at least have my knowledge of him,” Nanashi said, frowning as she studied the maps as well. “ _Himawari,_ do what you need to. Find where we must go for this fight.”

Moving to stand next to Jason, you let yourself be grounded by the hand he placed on your back. Warm, comforting. An anchor to reality as the static under your skin grew. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes. Felt the feather that pressed against your sternum grow warm. Not a protective charm, but an amplifier. You focused on that warmth, the way it grew uncomfortable, feeding into the static. Just like that, your fingers skimmed over the maps, pausing once, twice. Then you knew you’d landed on it. You opened your eyes, fingers pointing to a place you had not expected.

“Chicago,” you whispered. “We have to go to Chicago.”

“Makes sense,” Jason muttered, eyes narrowed as he moved to fold up the maps. “Easier to lose them in a big city. Harder to attack us if there are crowds.”

“They will still have their ways.” Nanashi let out a soft hum, head tilting to the side. “Think, sweet girl, is there anything else that you can see now?”

“There’s more…” You frowned, fingers brushing over the place where the feather rested on your sternum. It still burned, still felt like a brand against your skin. Just enough to conjure a few more visions. “There’s a place, high on a rooftop. Fancy, decorated well… small areas for privacy. It overlooks the city. Art on the walls, an elaborate display behind the bar. It’s there. That’s where they will find us.”

“How high?” Nanshi asked, a knowing look in her eyes.

“Twenty-seven floors.” You blinked, felt the feather cool back down. “Do you know it?”

“Oh, I know it quite well. I’ve spent many nights there when I had patrons in Chicago.” She smirked, glancing first at you, then at Jason. “Tell me, children, do you have any nice clothes packed with you?”

\---

The place you had seen, as it turned out, was a rooftop bar that sat above a high-class hotel. Although you’d seen on the hotel’s website that they did not allow pets, when you did arrive there, all Nanashi had to do was smile, an odd glow to her eyes, and the staff were happy to make an exception. You’d arrived late, had barely stopped at all on the way there. Although you’d tried to get some rest, tried to sleep so that you could prepare for the inevitable clash the following day, you’d been troubled by visions.

_A cloud of flies. A hand on your throat. Blood and broken glass. A card, face down, that held a secret still out of your reach._

Although you wanted to believe in Jason, wanted to believe in Nanashi, you could not shake the bone deep feeling that it would all end poorly. You didn’t tell them that, didn’t want to distract them from what really mattered: keeping Jason safe and stopping Ba’al’s assault. Thankfully, Nanashi had booked a separate room for you and Jason, wanting her own privacy. The moment you entered the room, you ignored the lush interior, the fancy kitchenette, the massive bathroom with a huge tub. Instead, you dropped your bag and flopped face first onto the ridiculously large bed. Yarrow crawled out from where she’d curled up in your hood, letting out a soft chirp as she batted at your head.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Jason asked, resting a hand on your back.

“Just tired,” you mumbled into the comforter. A lie, of course, but with your face hidden, there was no way for Jason to tell. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” He let out a soft laugh, carefully rolling you over and leaning down, hands braced on either side of your head. “I know we’ve been pushing you pretty hard the past few days… Once this is over, I’ll take you somewhere far away from all of this. Somewhere quiet, where you can get some rest.”

“That sounds nice.” You sighed, folding your hands on your stomach. “Do you have a specific place in mind?”

“I do.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, to the tip of your nose, to the swell of your cheekbone. “I know a guy who has a bungalow on Cannon Beach, out in Oregon. The opposite side of the country from Gotham. It’ll be spring, you can walk along the beach and go see all the flowers blooming. It’s quiet. Peaceful. We can just get away from it all for a few days.”

“I’ve never been to the beach,” you whispered, eyes fluttering closed as he laid down next to you. “I’ve only ever seen pictures of the ocean. I… I want to go there with you.”

“Then we will.” When you turned your head to look at him, Jason was staring up at the ceiling, expression wistful. “Once I’ve taken care of this shitshow. Once you get home and get settled with your family. I’ll take you away. Just you and me.”

“Just you and me.” Despite the dread settling cold in your bones, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe… Maybe things would turn out okay. Maybe you would get to go to that beach bungalow with him. “It sounds perfect.”

“No matter what, I’ll make sure it happens.” He took a deep breath, reached over to hook his pinky in yours. “Promise.”

“Promise,” you murmured back.

If Jason had anything else to say, he did not get a chance to. Schnitzel jumped up onto the bed, landing heavily on him. Grunting in pain, he shoved at the dog, even as Schnitzel wagged his tail and tried to lick his face. You let out a weak giggle, rolling out of the way to avoid being hit by his tail. Finally shoving the happy, wiggling dog off of him, Jason grumbled as he sat up.

“I’m gonna take a shower before I sleep,” he said, giving Schnitzel, who had moved to lay across your lap, a half-hearted glare. “Try to get some sleep if you can, okay? Don’t wait up for me.”

“Okay.”

You nodded, waiting until he’d gathered his sleep clothes and closed the bathroom door before you sat up. Schnitzel immediately moved off of you, wiggling to lay across the foot of the bed and resting his head on his paws as you stood. Yarrow yawned, curling up next to the dog, blue eyes watching you as you slipped out of your clothes and into your nightgown. When you slid beneath the covers, curling in on yourself and pulling the blankets over your head, you tried to get to sleep. Tried to let the exhaustion wash over you. But your thoughts were still racing, trying to make sense of all the fractured images you’d seen so far.

The lights flickered off, Jason’s footsteps so light that you hadn’t even heard him approach. He slipped into bed next to you just as quietly, the dip of the mattress as he laid down coming just a moment before his arm curled around you. Sighing, you relaxed back against him, let him draw you in so that your back was pressed against his chest, his head dipping so he could press a kiss to the nape of your neck. With your eyes closed, you experienced him, his presence, in a different way. Focused more on the curl of his fingers into your nightgown, his breath fanning over your skin, the rise and fall of his chest. Even though he’d showered, the smell of the shampoo and soap he used sharp and citrusy, there was still something innate to him. A scent that he could never wash off, clean and astringent and warm. You let your fingers brush over his arm, felt the corded muscle, his warm skin.

“Try to get some sleep,” he whispered, lips brushing against your skin and sending a tingle down your spine. He hooked one of his legs around yours, curled protectively around you. “Long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Mm,” you mumbled, letting yourself find some soft, quiet comfort, some peace in his embrace. “You too… you need it… more than me.”

“Agree to disagree.” His chuckle rumbled in his chest, arms tightening around you. “Good night, Delphi. Sweet dreams.”

“Good night, Jason.”

Slowly, lulled by the tide of his breathing and the slow beat of his heart, you let your dreams swallow you whole.

\---

_Familiar hallways stretched out behind you, two Handlers dragging you away. You kicked and screamed, tried to wrench yourself out of their grip. But you were too weak, your head too full of static. Head rolling back, you let yourself sob and scream as they carried you down the hallway you had always tried to avoid._

_Jean-Paul Valley—no, Azrael walked with them, helm under his arm and sword heavy on his hip. His bright blue eyes were vacant, filled only with what the Order wanted. A victim, once more, of the Program. Your sobs and screams, your cries, which had once persuaded him to help you, now fell on deaf ears._

_Thrown into one of the operating rooms, you were strapped down, the grips of the men handling you bruising as they immobilized you. Throat raw from screaming, your aching ribs keeping you from breathing as deeply as you needed to, you eventually fell silent. Your crying was quiet as you heard the familiar click of heels on tile._

_“Hello, 127,” the Matron said. Her eyes shone in the harsh light, teeth sharp as she smiled down at you. No longer the cold woman you had remembered, the glee in her eyes sending a chill down your spine. “We’ve missed you.”_

\---

Barely holding back a scream, you jolted awake. Panting, you kicked off the sheets, skin slick with sweat. Jason was not there. The sun was still rising, barely filtering through the curtains, and you had no doubt he’d gone for his usual morning run. Yarrow had also slipped out, leaving you alone.

Good. You needed to be alone. Didn’t want anyone to be witness to your terror, the panic that welled in your chest. What you’d seen, the nightmares you’d had, would come to pass. There was no doubting that. Azrael would succeed in his mission. You just needed to make sure that he didn’t hurt your mother or Jason in the process. That if he did take you, it wasn’t for nothing. There had to be some reason behind it, some greater meaning to your returning to that place.

Scrambling out of bed, you crawled over to your bag, digging through it. There wasn’t much time. Not when Jason could come back any second. Not when Yarrow could slip in and witness what you were about to do. Breathing heavily, you spread out your old tarot deck, each card kept carefully face down. The itch under your skin grew, flaring into a blinding pain as you pulled out the knife Jason had given you. With trembling fingers, you lifted the hem of your nightgown, pressing the edge against the inside of your thigh, high enough to hide away. Closing your eyes, you let the blade sink into your flesh, deep enough to send a flare of pain through you. Just before the euphoria took over, you pressed a dirty shirt against the wound, determined not to leave a drop of evidence.

Then, you abandoned yourself to the rush.

_Lavish rooftop bar, a den of sin and decadence. Wine poured rose gold, a feast laid before you. A nameless god and a man reborn, both ignorant to the sacrificial lamb in their wake. A swarm of flies, feast turned rotten, an angry god descending upon them. Screams and chaos, a fight dragged through the crowd. A card laid facedown on the table, an archangel’s feather ripped from the neck of the lamb. Blood and broken glass, a fist around the lamb’s throat. An evil hiding in plain sight, waiting for a new kind of weapon to be returned once more. A reckoning brought only through pain and sacrifice._

Gasping, you blinked as you came back to yourself, fingers clutching at your thigh. Still wobbly from the force of your vision, you got to your feet with difficulty, each step towards the bathroom unsteady. Pulling away the bloodied shirt, you replaced it with a wad of toilet paper, pressing hard. Once the bleeding had finally stopped, you flushed the bloody wads of paper and sat heavily on the tile.

Your worst fears had been confirmed. There was no changing the future, no preventing the path that you would have to go down. In order to move forward, to face one last evil, you would have to let yourself be taken. Although you’d hoped to never see the compound ever again, hoped you’d never walk those halls, you would have to. You’d have to sacrifice yourself and plunge face first into hell. Face your worst fears, come face to face with the monster who had raised you. Biting back tears, you pushed your hair back from your face, tried not to descend into a panic. Tried not to let yourself float away. You had to keep your feet planted firmly on earth.

If you were going to do this right, no one could see how afraid you were. How you wanted to hide away, beg Jason to take you somewhere else, to try to run from destiny. But you weren’t a fool. You knew that you would have to stand your ground, with as clear a heart and mind as you could.

Jason had made his sacrifice. Now, it was time for you to make yours.

By the time Jason came back to the room, you’d showered and hidden all evidence of the cut you’d made. Your bloody shirt was shoved at the very bottom of your bag, a bandage you’d snuck out of Jason’s first aid kit on your thigh. Nanashi came in with him, Yarrow perched quite happily on her shoulder. Schnitzel trotted over to you once Jason had taken off his harness, sniffing at your fingers. Curled up in one of the chairs by the large windows overlooking the city, you put on your best smile, scratching him behind the ears and closing your book.

“I come with gifts,” Nanashi said, dropping two shopping bags on the bed. “And I’ve already called room service for your breakfast. No need to thank me.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Jason grumbled, stripping off his running jacket and wiping at his face with the bottom of his shirt. You quickly looked away, hoping your mother hadn’t caught you staring at him. “Did you make coffee, Delphi?”

“I did,” you said, nodding to the little pot in the kitchenette. “It’s not much, but there’s enough for each of us to have a cup.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” he sighed, walking over to kiss the top of your head. “They’ve only got the packet non-dairy creamer. Is that okay?”

Nodding, you managed another smile before he turned to pour both of you coffee. Nanashi cleared her throat, drawing your attention back to her. Setting your familiar down, she picked up one of the bags, giving it a little shake.

“The gifts,” she said, “that I so graciously bought. Come here. I want to make sure I got the right size for you.”

“The… right size?” you asked, standing and slowly approaching her.

“Yes. If you’re going to appear at a nice bar with me where I order a six-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne, you’re going to look the part.” Ignoring the startled look you gave her, she pulled out a cropped shirt, holding it up against you. “Hm. Thought so.”

“We’re not going to the fancy rooftop bar to party,” Jason grumbled, waiting until she’d put away the shirt before he handed you your mug. “We’re going there to kill an ancient god that’s hunting Delphi and keep the Order’s pet killer from kidnapping her.”

“I’m very aware of what we’ll be doing tonight.” Nanashi turned to him, holding up a button up shirt and clicking her tongue. “It’ll be a tight fit, but that should work.”

“I have clothes I can wear,” he bit out, stepping back when she held up a pair of dark jeans. “Seriously, did you waste your morning shopping?”

“I did not waste anything,” she snapped back, tossing the jeans aside and glaring up at him. “Don’t forget that I am paying for this hotel room, I have paid for your breakfast, and I am paying for you to eat and drink tonight. If I have to show up with you trailing behind like a stray dog, the least you can do is look like you didn’t climb out of a dumpster.”

Jason flinched at that, looking a bit wounded. But she ignored him, turning back to you. You’d fished out a pair of shoes from one of the bags that looked both terribly expensive and not very comfortable.

“If we are facing down a fight that we may lose, I think that we should at least enjoy ourselves beforehand.” Smirking, she took the shoes from you. “And my personal philosophy is that you should always look best when you head into a fight.”

That seemed an odd philosophy, but you also weren’t going to question it. There was a sense of romance to showing up to a losing battle looking your best. However, the clothes she’d bought for you seemed… questionable. They looked tight, and seemed like they’d bare much more skin than you were comfortable with. Jason’s expression was also pinched as he looked over what your mother had picked out for him.

“Don’t worry,” she simpered, giving him a nasty smile. “I’ll let you wear those filthy boots of yours.”

“How am I even going to hide weapons on me in this,” he muttered, shaking his head and taking a sip of his coffee.

“A little imagination and a lot of luck.” Nanashi sat down on the end of the bed, letting Yarrow climb into her lap and stroking the familiar’s fur.

“Gee, thanks.”

Jason rolled his eyes, sitting down in one of the armchairs and heaving a sigh, slumping as he closed his eyes. Glancing at your mother, who seemed more interested in cooing at your familiar, you walked over to sit on the arm of his chair.

“Did you sleep last night?” you asked, keeping your voice soft.

“Not as much as I would’ve liked,” he admitted, cracking one eye open. “You were pretty much dead to the world when I left to go on my run.”

“I… slept,” you said, cautious with your words.

It was hard, keeping your face calm and neutral. Hard not to let the fear bleed through. Hard not to let them see what you knew, what you were keeping from them. It was best to let them think they could change destiny. Going into the fight with a good attitude would be better for them than letting them know what would happen to you. You risked a glance at the lone card you’d laid down on the table, tucked mostly out of sight under your book.

You’d seen its face and known what kind of future it had laid out for you. But now was not the time for them to know.

“Did you see anything? Have any dreams?” Jason’s questions snapped your attention back to him, his brow furrowed as he looked up at you.

“A few things,” you admitted, sipping at your coffee. “I’m… worried about what might happen.”

The truth very carefully folded into vague words, not enough of a lie that he would be able to catch it. Or, at least, you hoped he wouldn’t be able to catch it. But he didn’t seem to question it, resting a hand on your thigh and smiling.

“Don’t be,” he told you. Guilt sat cold and heavy in your gut, your fingers tightening around your mug. “I told you I’d keep you safe. That’s not changing any time soon.”

“I know,” you whispered.

You did not have the heart to tell him that he was wrong. That he’d have to suffer another blow to his already wounded pride. Instead, you did your best to smile, letting him wrap his arm around you as you drank your coffee. There was a soft knock at the door, making both of you jump. Nanashi snickered, letting Yarrow scamper off her lap as she stood.

“Your breakfast is here, children.” Crossing to the door, she disappeared for a moment only to reappear with a large tray of food. Setting it down on the desk, she gestured to it. “The familiar and I have already had our… _meals_ for the day. Eat. And then it’s time we get down to business.”

Once the food (the freshest fruit you’d ever had, fluffy, rich waffles, thick sausages, and a fresh carafe of coffee) was finished, the tray (minus the coffee) was set outside the door along with a do not disturb sign and Nanashi and Jason went to work. Somehow, your mother had managed to pull up blueprints for the bar, spreading them out on the desk. Heads bent together, they spoke in hushed voices. There was an unspoken agreement that it was the two of them who would do this, and you did not want to butt in. After all, you had your own plans to quietly go over in your head. Picking up your book, you pretended to read it, instead going over what you could do in your head.

Because even if you were supposed to go back to the compound, you did not want to go without a fight. You wanted to do everything you could, on your own, to try to prevent it. Actually going up against Azrael in a fair fight would absolutely result in you losing. You would have to be smart. You would have to be tricky. You would have to use your powers, if it came down to it, and hope that you did not hurt anyone else in the process. Yarrow had leapt up to join you, kneading your chest before she curled up, staring directly into your eyes.

 _Oracle is troubled,_ she hissed. _Yarrow help?_

It was tempting. Having your familiar get involved would likely turn the tide in your favor. But you also knew that Azrael had weapons and equipment that could hurt or kill her, specialized to kill and maim anything with demonic origins. The last thing you wanted was for her to get hurt. Tenuously reaching out to touch the bond between you and Yarrow, you sent a thought back through it, a silent little message.

 _Actually, you can help,_ you told her. _Do you always have to be close to me, Yarrow?_

 _No,_ she responded. _Yarrow can be close. Yarrow can be far. Yarrow will still be bound to Oracle._

 _I see._ That was good to know. It meant that she wouldn’t be hurt, if or when you were taken away from her. And it made your request much easier to make. _Yarrow, I want you to protect Jason first._

 _Yarrow… does not understand._ Her little voice was troubled, ears swiveling back. _Yarrow bound to Oracle. Yarrow protect Oracle._

 _You’ve done a very good job of it so far._ You smiled, gently stroking her fur, finding comfort in the way she purred, the soft warmth she radiated. _But I need you to do this for me, okay? I may have to go somewhere far away. And if I do, I need you to stay with Jason and protect him._

 _Stay with… the Jason?_ she asked, confused.

 _Yes,_ you said. _If I’m gone, if I leave, stay with him. Protect him like you would protect me, until I tell you otherwise._

There was a pause, a moment of silence. Even with her little kitten face, you could tell that Yarrow was troubled. You could feel it in your bond to her, a gentle tug at the very core of you. Finally, she rested her head on her little paws, looking unhappy.

 _Yarrow will protect the Jason,_ she hissed. _But Yarrow does not want Oracle to go away._

 _I’ll come back,_ you told her, still stroking her fur. Overnight, she seemed to have gotten bigger. Just enough to be noticeable, her movements not as awkward, her body a bit heavier on your chest. _But you have to be good, and you have to be brave. While I’m gone, you will have to help them. You’ll have to guide them to me._

_Yarrow will do that. Yarrow will always find Oracle._

Smiling, you turned back to your book. Even if everything ended in disaster, even if you lost your fight, at least you knew that Jason would be protected. And at least you had someone who would be able to find you.

\---

Watching your mother drink overpriced champagne, overwhelmed by the amount of food that had been laid out before you and the overlapping noise of the crowd and loud music, you slumped in the booth you’d been seated in, deeply uncomfortable. It wasn’t just the absurd prices on the menu (some of the champagnes and bottles of liquor had been more than several months’ rent), or the warm press of bodies around you, or even the itching of your scars that warned of approaching danger. It was also the tight pants that Nanashi had squeezed you into, the strip of bare skin between the high waist and the hem of the tight, short shirt she’d put you into. It was the pinch of the flats she’d given you to wear, not broken in yet and far stiffer than the second-hand shoes you’d always worn. It was the makeup she’d put on you, the way she’d styled your hair to cover your left eye.

Among so many fashionable, stylish people, you felt like an imposter. Like with one simple glance, any of them could see right through you, see that even though you were the daughter of the charming, roguish Nana Kurogane, you were nothing like her.

Jason looked almost as uncomfortable, although he looked much more like he fit in. The red shirt that Nanashi had given him was tight, the leather jacket stylish, the jeans flattering him. You’d never seen him so clean shaven, with his hair slicked back and a nice watch on his wrist. Of course, he was hiding a gun in his waistband, a knife in his boot, but he still looked the part. Just as roguish, a sharpness to his good looks that complimented the edge to Nanashi’s smile. The cashmere sweater Nanashi had given you to wear (to hide the bandages on your shoulder, the scars visible on your back) was helpful in wrapping around yourself as you sank further after a passing man, clearly a bit intoxicated, stared openly at you when he walked by.

“Lighten up, children,” Nanashi sighed, taking a sip of her champagne. Her own dress had a plunging neckline and a short skirt, only highlighting the many differences between you and her. “You both look miserable.”

“This isn’t exactly my idea of a fun time,” Jason grumbled back, shooting a glare at her. “And seriously, you’re drinking?”

“Of course I’m drinking,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We’re in a bar, Lazarus. Some of us know our limits and that a bit of liquid courage can be good in a fight.”

“Forgive me for wanting to have a clear head when I fight for my life.” Jason shook his head, scanning the floor once again.

Even with the overwhelming noise, the overwhelming crowd, everything that could have been a distraction, he was still vigilant. You wrapped your sweater tighter around yourself, feeling trapped in the booth, Jason on one side of you and Nanashi on the other.

“One day, you’ll learn to lighten up and have a bit of fun.” Nanashi sighed again, setting down her empty glass and sliding out of the booth. “The bottle is empty. I’ll be right back.”

Jason waited until she’d disappeared into the crowd before he draped an arm over your shoulders, leaning in so that he could speak quietly to you, barely audible over the cacophony of noise.

“Are you okay?” he asked, lips brushing against your ear.

Fighting back a shiver, you gave a small nod, glancing up at him. You weren’t okay, you were overwhelmed. But you didn’t want him to worry about you and miss a sign in the crowd, miss the first signal that a threat was approaching.

“I know you’re uncomfortable,” he continued, careful not to put too much weight on your injured shoulder as he leaned closer. “But hopefully this will be over soon.”

“I… I hope so too,” you whispered back. You couldn’t help but lean into him in response, seeking the small comfort of his presence. “It’s… it’s a lot.”

“Well, if nothing else…” He pulled back slightly, giving you a wicked grin. “You look _really_ good, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” you squeaked, face flushing. “I… um…”

“Not in public, please,” Nanashi said, sliding the new bottle of champagne she’d gotten into the ice bucket on the table. When Jason glared at her, arm tightening around you, she simply smirked. “At least wait until you’re back in your room, Lazarus. We _are_ here to kill a god and a super soldier, after all.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he said bitterly.

When he pulled away, you tried not to look disappointed. You had to clench your hands into fists in your lap to keep from reaching back out for him, from drawing him back towards you. Pouring herself another glass of champagne, the color a pale rose gold, Nanashi sat back and glanced out towards the crowd again. She took a sip, an edge to her eyes as they landed on someone in the crowd. You had started to reach for the plate of macarons in front of you, but stopped when her hand shot out, gripping your wrist.

“No.” Downing the rest of the glass, she set it down and sat up straighter. “He’s here.”

As if triggered by her announcement, you watched in horror as the food, once so appetizing, plated perfectly, began to rot before your eyes. Molding and blackening, pitch black flies bursting from it. It rippled through the crowd, screams moving from one end of the floor to another as what had once been food turned into a buzzing, dark cloud of flies. Jason stood, hand flying to his pistol, a soft glow to his eyes as he zeroed in on the crowd.

“Where?” he asked, voice clipped.

Nanashi did not need to answer. In the blink of an eye, a man was standing in front of your table, gaze cold and hateful. His skin was sun bronzed, silk shirt unbuttoned and showing toned muscles. When his eyes landed on you, they shifted from a deep gold to a burning orange, face shifting to something monstrous in anger. You pressed back against the seat, eyes wide as he began to stalk forward.

“Nameless child of a nameless god, distant cousin, I am here to do my duty as the son of Dagon and slay the one who felled him,” he hissed.

Shadows burst forward, throwing him backwards and into a table, screaming women scattering. Nanashi stood, crimson eyes glowing, the shadows behind her a crawling mass, slithering over her skin. There would be no more talk, no more discussion. Although you were frozen in place, rooted down by fear and a wave of static that rushed under your skin, both Nanashi and Jason did not hesitate. The sound of gunshots had more people scattering, music still blasting, creating a terrible chorus with the screams of the innocent people around you. Ba’al roared, shifting into a form with too many arms, too many legs, slamming into Nanashi.

The two crashed into tables, into booths, all tearing teeth and ripping claws, leaving a path of devastation in their wake. Finally getting to your feet, you tried to rush forward, storm in your heart swelling. But they moved too fast, had already gotten to the bar on the other side of the floor, broken glass and blood glinting in the flashing neon lights. Bodies lay prone on the floor and slumped over chairs, collateral damage of two gods fighting with no regard for the innocent lives around them. Your blood ran cold, storm dying, the silver blue light in your scars flickering out.

“Delphi!” Jason rushed over to you, quickly scanning you to make sure you hadn’t been injured. “We need to go, now.”

“No.” You stared up at him, swallowed back bile at the stench of rotting food and blood. “You have to stop them.”

“Let them fight it out,” he growled, grabbing your arm. “I need to get you somewhere secure before Azrael shows up.”

“Jason!” You ripped your arm from his grip, motioning to the carnage around you. “There are people dying. You need to stop this. I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t care about them.” There was a glow to his eyes, an edge to his voice that unsettled you. “The only thing that matters is keeping you safe.”

“You can’t mean that.” Staring up at him in horror, you shook your head. “Jason, these are _innocent people._ They don’t deserve to die. You have to… You have to kill Ba’al. Please.”

His hard expression flickered for a moment, a bit of the softness bleeding back in. You reached up, clasping his face in your hands.

“I will be fine,” you lied. “Go. For me. Kill the demon.”

“But…” His grip on his gun tightened, expression pained. “I can’t leave you.”

“You’re not leaving me. You’re being a hero. You’re saving lives.” You took a deep breath, stared up into his eyes to try to get through to him. “No matter what happens, I’ll always find my way back to you. Always. I love you.”

Before he could argue, before he could say anything else, you grabbed him by the front of his leather jacket, pulling him down and kissing him. Deeply, desperately, pouring everything you could into it. It was all teeth and tongue, for as briefly as it lasted. Then you released him, shoving him away. He still looked dazed, stumbling backwards.

“Delphi…”

“Go!” you yelled, shoving him hard in the chest again.

Although his expression was torn, Jason listened to you. Wiping at the dark red lipstick you’d smeared on his lips, he turned away from you and ran towards the clashing gods. You let out a trembling breath, watching as he disappeared into the crowd, all of them pushing and shoving and trying to escape. Swallowing your own fear, you reached down the front of your shirt, pulling out the card you’d tucked away there.

 _The High Priestess._ A horned diadem on her head, a pomegranate embroidered in the tapestries behind her. Secrets, mystery, and the future as yet unrevealed. A wolf lurking amongst a flock of lambs, an evil you knew all too well.

It had to be done. You had to go back, not only to save Jason, but to save all of the children you’d left behind. Setting the card down on the table, you took a deep breath. The noise of the fight, the crack of each shot Jason took, the roars of Ba’al and Nanashi’s answering hisses, bled away. You closed your eyes, feeling him approach before you heard him.

“Jean-Paul.” You turned to face him, adorned not in his regalia, but a fine suit. Blending perfectly in the crowd. It had been a stroke of luck that you’d spotted him upon first entering the bar. “It’s been a while.”

“Designation 127.” His blue eyes were cold, long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Although his hands were in his pockets, you knew that he could strike at any moment, move faster than you could keep up with. “You sent away the Lazarus to protect him.”

“No,” you said, hand straying to the handle of the knife you’d tucked away into the back of your shirt, secured by the band of your bra. “You would stand no chance against him in a fight. I didn’t want him to waste his time.”

The taunt worked, even though your voice had been shaking. There was a flare of anger in his eyes and he took a threatening step towards you. You did not budge, sliding the blade free.

“My orders are to bring you back alive,” he said, voice low, a sharp edge to it now. “Come with me willingly.”

“No.” You took a step forward, glaring up at him. “I won’t make it that easy for you.”

Just as you’d suspected, he moved quicker than you could track, standing a few paces away in one moment, his hand wrapped around your throat the next. Gasping, you grit your teeth, raising the knife and sinking it deep into his shoulder. Jean-Paul—No, _Azrael_ let out a grunt of pain, but did not release you. When his grip tightened, you fought through the pain, lashed out with your nails, slapping at him until you managed to sink your nails into the skin of his temple, raking down and over his eye. He did let you go then, hand pressed over his bleeding face and letting out a low growl. You backed away, glanced around, trying to find the quickest route of escape. But Azrael recovered faster than you’d thought he would. Grasping for you, you managed to stumble back just in time, his fingers closing around your feather pendant instead. The red thread snapped, painful against the back of your neck.

Still growling, he tossed it aside, launched himself forward and tackled you to the ground. You wanted to scream, but found the breath knocked out of your lungs, ribs screaming in pain. Pressing his hand against the blind side of your face, he forced your head down onto the ground, wrenching it painfully to the side. You struggled as best you could, punching at his chest and ribs, trying to bring your knee up to hit him in the groin. But he pinned your legs down with his own, weathered each of your weak blows as he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket. You fought harder as he brought out a syringe, ripping the cap off with his teeth. Blood streaked his face, one eye red and inflamed from the blow you’d managed to land.

“The orders were to bring you in alive,” he growled, “but not unscathed.”

Fingers gripping your hair painfully, he slammed your face against the floor, dazing you. Blinking away dark spots in your vision, you cried out when you felt the pinch of the needle in your neck. Azrael continued to keep you pinned, ignoring your gasps of pain, grip tightening in your hair. Within moments, you felt your limbs go cold and numb, unresponsive despite your desperate attempts to move. You could still see, were still present in your body as he hauled you into his arms, head lolling limply on your neck. You could see Ba’al’s brains splattered across the back of the bar, his eyes staring blankly as Nanashi ripped his head from his neck, her form flickering and monstrous, dozens of slithering, oily tentacles having burst from her.

For one terrible moment, your eyes locked with Jason’s. You watched as his expression changed from pained and exhausted, a hand clutching at his bleeding side, to horrified. You’d never seen him look so scared, color draining from his face. The space between you was relatively small, but it felt infinite, littered with so many bodies. His scream of your name was distant, tinny, as if you’d been submerged in water. Vision slowly going dark, you watched as your mother turned, her own eyes widening. Shadows slithered towards you and you distantly realized that Azrael was running, shifting to hold your limp body with one arm. A shattering of glass, the sensation of falling, a rush of cold wind coming up to meet you.

And then, blessedly, the darkness consumed you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i giveth, and i taketh away. [menacing laughter]
> 
> sumiko belongs to [the lovely mari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmetea) and will be making her grand appearance in the next chapter
> 
> [buy me a ko-fi and help support me!!](https://ko-fi.com/difficultheart)
> 
> [some recommended listening!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7NO0YX341XU) (ps stan talent stan dreamcatcher their songs are basically the soundtrack for this fic)


	11. Part Ten: The High Priestess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: MAJOR warnings for abuse, torture, dehumanization; gore, violence, body horror, emotional distress, brainwashing/manipulation mention, multiple POV

In the wake of such incredible violence, of screams and shattering glass and two gods fighting to the death, the silence was deafening. There were no sirens. At least, not yet. Just the high whistle of wind blowing through broken glass, the steady drip of blood and alcohol. Jason Todd wanted to feel _something._ Wanted to feel pain from the place where Ba’al had clawed him, scored into his ribs. Wanted to feel fury at himself for failing, for letting the cold, unfeeling part of him take over at the worst possible time. He wanted to cry and scream, to burn the whole world down as an answer to what it had done to him.

But all he could feel was a terrible, unending emptiness. A void of nothing where his fury should have been.

Something pulled at him, had him walking over broken glass, stepping over dead bodies. Moving through the carnage, stopping at the booth they’d been in. The rotting food was still there, fancy bottle of champagne tipped over and spilling onto the floor. Movements not quite his own, absent from his own body, he knelt and picked up the only things that remained of her. A tarot card. The High Priestess. And her pendant, the archangel’s feather cold in the palm of his hand.

A sign. She’d known. She’d known and she’d told them and they hadn’t listened. They’d taken it lightly… _he_ had taken it lightly. Too wrapped up in his own wounded pride and distracted by far-flung dreams instead of focusing on the present. Bruce had taught him better. Talia had taught him better. All of his tutors, the ones he’d taken out of the world, had taught him better. For all of his training, all of the blood on his hands to become better, to be what Gotham needed, he’d failed when it mattered most.

Hubris. A great rise and a mighty fall. She’d called him Icarus once. And for a second time, he’d flown too close to the sun.

Jason wanted to fall apart. He wanted to lose himself, he wanted to _destroy._ But he couldn’t. All those years of training, of compartmentalizing when he wanted to fly off the handle, kicked in. His pain could come later. His fear could come later. His _heartbreak_ could come later. The only thing that mattered was solving the problem, fixing his mistake.

Even if he had to burn the whole world down, he would get Delphi back. No matter what.

The soft crunch of glass underfoot drew his attention away from the smear of blood on the floor. From Delphi, from Azrael, he wasn’t sure. When he looked up, he froze. Nanashi stood in front of the broken window, expensive shoes nowhere to be seen. Her dress was ripped and torn, dark blood streaking her skin, hair wild. Her eyes glowed in the flickering neon, red as blood, expression unreadable. When Azrael had run, she had followed, ignoring her own wounds in her desperation to retrieve her daughter. But she was empty handed. No Delphi. Just a terrible, alien blankness.

“Nanashi—”

A force knocked him off his feet before he could say anything else, slamming him back into one of the upended tables. Once his vision cleared, gasping for breath as pain flared in his back and chest, he realized that she’d hit him with one of the twisting, dark tentacles that seemed to be part of her flesh. Her expression was still blank, even as she walked barefoot across broken glass. As she got closer, he realized that whole chunks had been ripped out of her, slick oily darkness seeping from the wounds. There was a nasty burn across the left side of her face and neck, no doubt from the short chase she’d had with Azrael, some weapon he’d tucked up his sleeve. She stopped just in front of him, the lack of emotion on her face slowly beginning to frighten him.

“You were supposed to be her protector.”

Her voice was low. Full of… something. More than anger, more than fear. A level of heartbreak that went leagues deeper than his own. The loss of a child, so shortly after she’d been found. A pain that he had seen before, in grainy images and shaky video of Bruce so soon after Jason’s own death.

“Nanashi.” It was hard to talk, his ribs screaming. But he had to let the pain fuel him. Embrace the adrenaline rush that came from it. Despite the cold chill of fear creeping its way through his veins, he kept eye contact. “I’m going to get her back. It’s my fault. But I’m going to make it—”

A crushing force around his throat cut him off. Her left hand, cold as ice, squeezed around his windpipe. Although his instincts screamed for him to fight back, to take down the threat, he forced himself to be still. In the face of this ancient being and her silent fury, the only thing he could do was stay calm. To let her do what it was she needed to do.

“I’ve known about you for over a year, Jason Peter Todd.” A cold edge to her voice, despite the way it shook. She was trying not to explode, trying not to lose the rapidly weakening grasp that she had on her self-control. “I saw the first moment that you froze, when you realized the truth about the shadows you saw from the corner of your eye. Sumiko was keeping an eye on the situation, wary of the sudden increase of demonic activity in the city. We learned about you. About the things you’d done. The way you died and came back. We watched as you destroyed every bond you’d worked to rebuild. We watched you leave and the demons leave with you. And we thought it was over. But… but it was you that fate tied to my child. To _our child._ _”_

Just like that, the mask shattered. All that pain came flooding out, her hands shaking. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her eyes closing as she let out a muted sob. Her grip relaxed, just enough for him to take a deep, gasping breath. Jason blinked away pained tears, the darkness that had been slowly creeping into his vision clearing. Although his hand strayed to the knife tucked in his boot, he did not draw it. Not yet.

“I have to tell Sumiko that our child was taken and it was my fault,” she rasped, the tears that slid down her face dark and slick as oil. Already, her flesh was beginning to mend itself, leaving only streaks of blood and dark matter. “I lost myself in my rage and my daughter has been taken because of it.”

It would have been kind for Jason to disagree, to reassure her that none of it was her fault. But that would have been a lie, and if there was one thing he’d figured out about Nanashi, it was that she wasn’t big on kindness. Taking another deep breath, Jason slowly got to his feet. Wary, cautious. One wrong move and he could end up splattered on the walls like Ba’al. He couldn’t die. Not yet. Not until Delphi was safe and the people who had taken her had felt his wrath.

“We both lost ourselves,” he said, voice low. “I let whatever infected me from the Lazarus Pits take over for a moment. You let your anger take over. But Delphi knew that she was going to be taken. I think she had a plan.”

“What makes you say that?” Nanashi asked, wiping at her face with the heel of her hand, eyes narrowed.

Jason held up the tarot card, glad that it and the necklace hadn’t fallen from his grip. Stepping closer, Nanashi took the card from him. Although she still wore what passed for a broken heart on her sleeve, a bit of coldness had leaked back into her expression. Priorities, he knew, were being set with each passing second. She ran her thumb over the face of the card, leaving a smear of dark ichor.

“I was afraid that this would be the case.” Shaking her head, she took Jason’s wrist, setting the card back in his hand. “Sometimes, I don’t enjoy being right all the time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Use your brain for a second, Lazarus.” Nanashi tapped her temple. “Think back to your experiences with my _himawari_ so far.”

With each passing second, Delphi got further and further away. He had to work quickly, had to puzzle out what it was that Nanashi had picked up from the card. Although he was never the detective that Tim had become, Jason had always had a talent for solving mysteries. Not in the traditional ways, of course. But all that mattered was finding the solution. Frowning, he closed his eyes. Tried not to focus on the slow approaching wail of sirens.

“The Major arcana has always represented a demon or a threat when she’s done readings for me,” he said. Opening his eyes, he studied the card, wracked his brain for whatever he could remember about Tarot and the meanings of the cards. “The High Priestess represents secrets and mysteries.”

“Correct.” Nanashi glanced out the broken window, grasped him by the arm to drag him out the emergency exit. “Keep thinking. But we need to move.”

Taking the steps two at a time, Jason followed Nanashi, letting her lead him back to his room. While he continued to think over the card, over what it could possibly mean, he threw his things together quickly. Nanashi took care of Delphi’s things, carefully packing them away while Yarrow let out sad chirps, winding around Jason’s ankles. Poor Schnitzel was confused as well, his favorite person missing as Jason put the harness on him and double checked to make sure they had everything before they fled back down the stairs.

“If she left it at the place where she was taken, then that must mean that whatever this second to last demon is, it’s there. It’s in the compound with her,” he said, throwing bags in the back of the truck. “Why would the Order allow demons among them, though? They mostly follow Catholicism, don’t they?”

“The Order has many monsters among their ranks, Lazarus. They are an offshoot of the Templars, after all.” Nanashi tossed the remaining bags in the truck. Where she’d gotten her own from, if she’d disappeared for a moment to retrieve them while Jason wasn’t looking, he didn’t know. And frankly, it didn’t matter. “But you’re correct. The demon you will have to face is in the Compound.”

“And…” He paused, the truck’s engine rumbling to life. A classic rock song played on the radio, making his grip on the wheel tighten. “And the demon is someone she knows well.”

“There you go.” Nanashi looked smug in the passenger seat as he pulled out of the parking garage, Yarrow in her lap. “It took a while, but you eventually got there. Tell me, Lazarus… What has the child told you about the Matron?”

\---

Consciousness came back to you slowly, your limbs still numb and unresponsive and your vision cloudy as Azrael dragged you through the entrance to the compound. Head still rolling limply on your neck, you blinked, recognizing the sterile white halls and the overwhelming chemical smell. Although you wanted to fight back, to lash out and free yourself, even your heartbeat was sluggish. Your surroundings were muffled and distant, as though you were viewing them from underwater. Once your vision cleared enough, you realized that Azrael had donned his sacred armor, helm tucked under one arm as he dragged you by the back of your sweater.

He threw you to the ground, your temple glancing off the floor painfully and making your vision go blurry for a few more terrible moments. You tried to push yourself up, tried to get your weak arms to work, but managed only to make a low moaning sound, hands curling into loose fists. Two pairs of feet entered your field of vision, and when you slowly turned your head to look up, you found yourself staring back up at two Handlers you did not recognize, their uniforms a starched, crisp white.

“I have brought the lost lamb back, per the Matron’s orders,” Azrael said, voice low and clipped. “Mostly unharmed.”

“Your efforts are appreciated, Brother Azrael.” One of the Handlers, a young man with a posh British accent, offered a dark smile as he took one of your arms. “The Matron will be pleased.”

“Please follow us, Brother,” the other Handler said, his voice low, his grip more painful than the other Handler’s.

You whimpered, couldn’t find the energy to echo the screams and cries you’d let out in your vision. But you recognized the hall they were dragging you down, weakly tried to dig your heels into the slick linoleum. You’d gone down that hall many times, remembered the coppery smell of blood, the distant echo of screams that came from each of the procedure rooms. When you tried to wrench one of your arms loose from the grip of the younger Handler, he tightened his hold on your arm, as bruising as the other.

Kindness and mercy were nowhere to be found in these walls.

Just as you had seen in your dreams, Azrael followed along, his expression blank. An unfeeling machine, reduced to nothing but a tool by the Program. A scream finally ripped itself from your lungs, low and painful and primal, your injured shoulder throbbing painfully as you struggled. Even though you’d allowed yourself to be taken, even though you knew that destiny had decided this was the path you were supposed to take, you could not fight the terror you felt. You had nearly died finding a way to escape the walls of the Compound. You did not want to die within them. Being brought back by the man who had helped free you was a cruel irony, one that only served to shove you closer towards despair.

The operating room you were dragged into was one you weren’t familiar with, one that was used for children with powers different than your own. Deposited roughly into a cold metal chair, the Handlers bound your wrists and ankles tighter than was necessary. The restraints were not padded like the ones that had been used on you before, digging painfully into your skin. The older Handler, the one who’d definitely left bruises on your arm from his harsh grip, tugged your head back, placing one last restraint around your neck.

Bound, drugged, and trembling with fear, you were helpless, unable to fight back as you heard the tell-tale rhythmic click of heels. Each step echoed closer and closer, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps by the time the Matron finally stepped into the room.

In the time since you’d left, she had not changed at all. Still wore the same black clothing, pale hair pulled back in a tight bun, her high heels clicking against the linoleum as she approached you. Just as you had seen in your vision, she did not wear her usual cold, dead expression. Instead, her blue eyes were bright with a terrible glee, sharp teeth bared in a cruel smile. The Handlers had positioned themselves on either side of you, Azrael directly behind the chair and out of sight.

“Hello, 127.” The Matron came to stop just in front of you, hands folded primly in front of her. Hands that had held you down for so many years, nails painted blood red. “We’ve missed you.”

Jaw locked, you did not respond. You weren’t sure if you were even capable of responding, head a jumbled mess of drugged fuzziness and sheer terror. You wished that you were capable of a witty comeback, a one-liner to deal a weak blow to her ego. But in the face of your captor, your abuser, you found that the words simply would not come to you.

The Matron raised one hand, giving it a sharp wave.

“You’re dismissed,” she ordered, words clipped.

Ever obedient, the two Handlers bowed their heads to her before they left the room, closing the door behind them. Azrael remained behind you, the dismissal not applying to him. Not yet, anyways. The Matron took a deep breath, folding her hands once more and leaning down to inspect your face. Her grin only grew, a vicious thing that made your blood run cold. When she reached for you, you flinched, trying to press yourself further back against the chair as she ran a nail lightly along the line of your jaw.

“You’ve been quite busy in the last few months, haven’t you?” she asked, grasping your jaw. Her hand was terribly cold, sharp tips of her nails biting into your skin. “You’ve changed.”

“She was still a non-threat the last time I visited her for a prophecy.” Azrael stepped around you, eyes narrowed.

“That was before the little red string around her finger pulled at her.” The Matron turned your face one way, then the other. Observing you, your expression, your smudged make-up and the stinging pain in your face from where Azrael had smashed it against the floor. “Funny, the way destiny seems to work. I let one little lamb go, and she becomes a wolf.”

“If I may ask,” Azrael said, corners of his lips turning down into a frown, “why bring a discarded prophet back? Why not simply dispose of her, like the rest?”

“Because she is of another use to us now, Azrael. That is all that you need to know.” Releasing your face, she turned to him. “You may go now. The medical team can tend to your shoulder and face.”

Just as the handlers had done before, Azrael inclined his head to the Matron, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His expression flickered for a moment when he glanced at you, the change so fast that you barely even caught it. But then he was cold and expressionless once more, turning away and heading towards the door. For that split second, the Program had glitched. Nails biting into the skin of your palms, you tried not to let the slow blooming hope that you felt show. While it was entirely possible that the medical team would find that glitch while they were tending to him, that it would be smoothed over and what little piece of Jean-Paul remained would be erased, you wanted to hold onto that hope. That, perhaps, you could have an ally within the compound while you waited for Jason and Nanashi to inevitably show up.

“One moment.” The Matron stared at his back, face impassive. “Remain here, for the time being. When the sinners come, we will need you here for the battle. You can receive further orders after that.”

“As you wish.”

With one last gentle bow of his head, Azrael left the operating room, the door clicking shut behind him. The Matron let out a soft hum, slowly turning to look back towards you once more. You did your best to keep your face neutral, tried to breathe evenly as she walked to stand behind you, hands resting on your shoulders.

“You’ve been very quiet so far, 127. Surely you must have some questions. We’re alone now, so I can answer them honestly,” she said, voice pitched low.

It would have been better to stay silent, you knew. To stonewall her at every turn. But you could not help your curiosity. The more you knew, the greater your chances of survival were.

“Why bring me back here?” you asked, tensing as the Matron began to drag your chair backwards.

“The same question as Azrael, hm?” She sighed, turning the chair so that you were facing away from the door. “I suppose it is the first one that would come to mind. Especially after we disposed of you.”

The Matron pulled over another chair, sitting in front of you. No razors, none of the usual tools that had been used on you. It was just you and her. But you could not smother the instinctive fear that pain would come. That it was simply a matter of time until the other shoe dropped and you were made once more into a weapon to be used against the Order’s enemies.

“It’s quite simple.” The Matron smiled once more, relaxing back into her chair and primly crossing her ankles. “By taking you, I kill two birds with one stone. While it’s clear that you can no longer be trusted to give us prophecies without tainting them in some way, you’ve also changed since your time here. We had assumed that you had never inherited a piece of your mother, but clearly we were wrong. That dark little seed has been blossoming. And the Order can use another faithful weapon. It will take some time, but we will eventually be able to reprogram you and train you to do what we need from you.”

“What is the other reason?” you asked. “You said two birds, one stone. But you only gave me one reason.”

“Oh, of course.” The Matron chuckled, folding her hands on her lap. “I suppose that the vision that you had was a bit incomplete, wasn’t it? That answer is also quite simple. Wherever you go, the Lazarus will follow. It’s difficult for me to leave this operation, since most of my underlings here are useless without me. As one of the last of my brethren, the task of killing him falls to me. I’d hoped it wouldn’t but, well. Here we are. You’ve made him quite the threat, 127.”

You took a deep breath, realization crashing down on you. That odd shine to her eyes that you’d caught, the sight of her licking your blood from her hands that you had dismissed as a dream, conjured up by your blood loss addled brain. But it made sense. She’d never seemed to age, held a power over the Keepers and Handlers that seemed to run deeper than simple hierarchal privileges. Frankly, it was embarrassing that you hadn’t realized it earlier.

“Which demon are you?” you whispered, clutching the arms of your chair.

“It wouldn’t be much fun if I simply _told_ you, now would it?” The Matron’s smile grew, face flickering for a moment, a flash of something monstrous hiding just beneath the surface. “Besides, 127. I suspect we’ll have quite a bit of time alone together before your little knight in shining armor shows up.”

Whimpering, you pressed back against the chair, struggled weakly against your bonds as she stood and leaned over you. Her cold hands rested on your shoulders, eyes flashing before her fingers dug into your injured shoulder. You screamed, head snapping back against the chair, barely managing to clamp your teeth down on your lip to smother the visions that rose up with the hot pain. Her nails dug in further and you cried out once more, nails scoring the arms of the chair as the last piece of your vision slipped from your lips.

_“The red sun will rise and bring with him unrelenting darkness, burning with righteous fury and leaving destruction in his wake. He shall not stop until innocent blood is freed and he finds the dark star he seeks.”_

The Matron sighed, pulling her hands away, staring at the blood that soaked through the bandages and your expensive cardigan with open disappointment.

“Well, not much useful information there.” Shaking her head, the Matron crossed over to the door, not bothering to turn you back around. “We’ll simply have to consult some of the other prophets. The medical team will treat you and give you something to let you rest. Once you wake, we’ll get to work.”

The door opened, the Matron’s footsteps receding down the hall. By the time the medical-trained Handlers arrived, you had slumped back in the chair, openly weeping.

In the wake of the nightmarish images you had seen, the future that was in store for you, the fragile hope in your heart had begun to wilt.

\---

Looping off the last stitch in his side, Jason heaved a sigh, tossing aside needle and thread and taping a bandage over the freshly closed wounds. Thankfully, they hadn’t been too serious, and he’d stopped bleeding pretty soon after he and Nanashi had fled Chicago. Once he chewed a couple of aspirin and had a cup of coffee, he’d be ready to get on the road again. The only reason he’d even pulled over was because Nanashi had complained about the smell of his blood and he’d needed to top off the truck with gas. Each minute he’d spent in the cramped little gas station bathroom had been a minute wasted, a minute that Delphi got further and further away from them. Pulling on a fresh shirt he’d retrieved from his bag, he wrapped the dirtied needle and what remained of his suture thread in the ruined shirt he’d been wearing and threw it away in the trash with the bloody paper towels he’d used to wash his side.

Rolling up his first aid kit and tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket, he gritted his teeth as he washed his hands and exited the bathroom. He tossed the key back to the bored teenage cashier with a grunt of thanks, eyes narrowed as he left the store, the door swinging closed behind him with a rusty groan. Nanashi was already waiting for him, leaning against the side of the truck with a plastic bag.

“Tank’s filled up,” she told him, tone clipped as he approached. “I got coffee, some breakfast, and a map. Get in.”

Biting back a complaint about being bossed around, Jason simply grunted again, walking around the truck to get in. Schnitzel scrambled to sit in his spot in the center once more, Yarrow draping herself around his shoulders once Nanashi slammed the door behind her. He took the large cup of coffee she handed him, nose wrinkling as he took a sip of the bitter, lukewarm drink. It would do the trick, and that was all that mattered. Once she’d handed him a travel packet of aspirin, he ripped it open with his teeth, chewed them, and pulled back out onto the interstate. In the few hours since they’d left, they’d managed to cross through Indiana, the state border for Ohio rolling past as the first dredges of sunrise bled into what remained of the night.

“What’s the plan?” Jason asked, flipping on the scanner he had before pressing down on the gas and pushing the truck to its limits.

“I’m trying to follow the seed of myself in the child, but its small. If they’ve drugged her, it’ll make it harder for me to sense her while she’s asleep.” Nanashi spread out a map on the dash in front of her. “Yarrow. You can feel your bond to her, yes?”

The familiar chirped, her forked tail twitching as she raised her head from where it had rested on his shoulder. Standing up, Yarrow stretched before she slunk off of him, climbing over Schnitzel to settle in Nanashi’s lap. It would have been easier if either of them were able to communicate with her. But, of course, it couldn’t be that simple, and her connection extended to Delphi only.

“Can you point out where they’ve taken her?” Nanashi asked, hands keeping the map from slipping off the dash as Jason pushed the truck over 90.

Another soft chirp came from the odd little cat. Bracing her back legs on Nanashi’s lap, she placed her front paws on the dash, surveying the map. Jason glanced over long enough to see one little paw tap over a section of the map. Yarrow purred, tail flicking as Nanashi pulled her back into her lap and picked up the map.

“New Jersey, hm?”

A chirp of affirmation.

“The Order is hiding that compound in New Jersey?” Jason asked, eyes narrowed. “I… thought it would be in Europe somewhere.”

“If it was in Europe, the child would likely have ended up in Paris or London instead of in Gotham when she fled.” Nanashi sighed, folding the map and glaring at the state that had been pointed out. “I didn’t know it would be so close.”

“How do you not know where this place is? Didn’t you give them your eggs or whatever for their experiments?”

“I did.” Kicking her feet up onto the dash, Nanashi traced a route on the map with her nail. “But it would’ve been stupid for them to take me directly there, Lazarus. Then I could have stormed it any time I pleased and taken whatever I wanted. No, they took me to one of their little clinics in Seattle when we had our agreement.”

That did make sense, now that she pointed it out. The less people that knew about the compound, the more secure it was. Easier to hide from the Order’s enemies if they kept it hidden from even their outside allies. A secret even from the ever-watchful eyes of the Justice League. It was staggering, thinking of just how close it had been for so many years. Just an hours’ drive away from Gotham at most, so much evil kept tucked away close to home. Grip tightening on the steering wheel, Jason tried to focus on the road.

If he had his way, nothing would remain of the compound once he was done.

“If we make good time, we can get to New Jersey in a couple days,” Jason said, tapping his index finger against the wheel. “I’ll need to do a restock from a guy I know. Make some stops to keep the truck fueled up, get us some food. At least a couple hours sleep before we storm this place.”

While taking a flight to where Delphi was would be faster, there was no way Jason would be able to smuggle all his weaponry onto a plane. Not to mention it would be a pain to get Schnitzel and Yarrow cleared for air travel. It was better to drive, even if it took more time. He’d been hoping that Azrael’s journey there would be just as slow, but had quickly been proven wrong.

“We’ll have to hope that the child is able to do what she can before we arrive.” Drawing her finger back, she sighed at the route she’d outlined for them. “Once we cross the state border, I can pull up a more detailed map and have the familiar point out the exact spot for us. I will do what I can to try to reach out to _himawari_ within her dreams, as well.”

“What are your chances of success at that?” he asked, watching storm clouds roll closer.

“It all depends on how willing she is to let me in.” Nanashi shrugged, letting Yarrow settle down to sleep in her lap. The familiar had been more sluggish than usual since Delphi had been taken, sleeping for most of the drive. “And whether or not the familiar is able to speak to her over such a distance.”

No guarantees. It was frustrating, knowing that he had no control over the situation. So much seemed to rest on Delphi’s own strength, her willpower. While Jason would admit that she’d visibly grown in the few months that they’d known each other, and even more during the weeks they’d spent on the road, he was also all too aware of the strain that being back in a place tied to so much trauma and pain could bring. A tinny rock song filled the silence, Jason focusing on the endless stretch of road before him and Nanashi resting her head against the window.

“When are you going to tell Sumiko?” Jason asked.

A bold question, a loaded one. But they both knew that it was inevitable. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Nanashi’s shoulders slump. Groaning, she ran a hand over her face.

“I… I don’t know,” she mumbled, letting her hand fall to her lap, fingers combing through Yarrow’s fur. “Not much chance of me getting some privacy for that call, is there?”

“If we want to get to New Jersey as fast as possible? No.” He echoed her sigh, shifting gears and taking another swig of shitty coffee. “But I’m willing to set aside some time if you want to have that conversation where I can’t hear it. I… I know it won’t be an easy one.”

“Trust me, Lazarus, I’m all too aware of how hard it is going to be to tell my wife that our child, the child she’s been wanting to meet for weeks, has been captured by the people who kept her from us to begin with,” Nanashi said, edge to her voice. Then, after a pause, she sighed again. “No. It’s fine. We shouldn’t waste any more time than is necessary.”

Still tapping his finger along to the beat of the song playing on the radio, he glanced at the approaching road sign. Jason heaved a sigh, not looking forward to either losing time or having to listen in on a potential domestic dispute.

“We can stop in Cleveland for a bit. Let Schnitzel get a walk in. You can call your wife then,” he mumbled.

“How long?”

“About 3 hours, give or take.”

Nanashi grunted, settling down further in the passenger seat and resting her head against the window, eyes slipping closed. Yarrow continued to purr in her lap, Nanashi’s fingers still lazily stroking her fur.

“Wake me up when we get there,” she yawned, body slowly beginning to relax. “I’ll see if the familiar or I can reach out to the child.”

Just like that, her breathing evened out, body slumping in the tell-tale sign of deep sleep. It was… honestly impressive, how quickly she was able to go from conscious to a deep sleep. A skill that he would have killed for. If he was truly honest with himself, he was glad. There was a very noticeable tension still between him and Nanashi, their dislike for each other open and palpable. It was easier to focus on driving, on trying to sort out his thoughts and come up with something like a plan with her asleep. There were no stinging remarks thrown his way, no glares that screamed ‘it’s your fault’.

Just him, two sleeping animals, the radio, and his own thoughts. More than ever, he missed Delphi. He missed her soft singing, missed those few brief days when he’d been able to hold her hand, steal glances at her from the corner of his eye. He missed her fidgeting, missed the way she sometimes mumbled bits from the books she read out loud.

Jaw clenched and grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled, Jason bottled up his slow building rage. If the gut feeling he had about the compound was right, he’d need every ounce of anger he could muster.

\---

_You recognized the goshinboku, the field of white flowers and the bright moon hanging in the sky. A familiar dreamscape, the one where you had first met your mother. A strange comfort, so different from the fear you’d felt the first few times you’d been there. Nanashi lounged under the god tree, smoking her pipe, Yarrow sleeping beside her. Your familiar was the size of a small dog once more, silver blue eyes blinking up at you and forked tail flicking as you approached._

_The earth was soft beneath your bare feet, the flowers still dewy from a recent rain. In the distance, you could hear the soft, comforting rumble of thunder._

_“I’m glad that you kept your mind as open as you could,” Nanashi said, blowing a ring of sweet-smelling smoke. “I was afraid that you would close it.”_

_“I don’t even know how to do that,” you admitted. You knelt before her, fidgeting with the uncomfortable dress you’d been dressed in before the medical Handlers dosed you with drugs to put you back to sleep. “I’m surprised I’m even dreaming.”_

_“Eh, a dream state can be made from any state of unconsciousness if one tries hard enough.” Nanashi waved a hand, taking a long drag off of her pipe and letting the smoke curl from her nostrils. “It’s… good to see you. Even if only in dreams, himawari.”_

_“I’m… I’m sorry for this.” Hugging your knees to your chest, you allowed yourself a half-hearted smile as Yarrow stood to curl around you, her fur warm and soft against your chilled skin. “But the cards and the visions all said that I had to be taken. And the Matron—”_

_“Is a demon, yes.” Nanashi shook her head, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “The one time I did meet her, I know there was something about her that was wrong. The way fates have been intertwining… it would be the monster who raised you that would be one of the last demons for the Lazarus to face. Do you have any idea who she is?”_

_“No.” You sighed, hugging your knees tighter. “She wouldn’t tell me. The vision that she pulled from me didn’t have any answers, either.”_

_“I have faith that you will figure it out.” Tapping out the last of the tobacco in her pipe, she tucked it away in the sleeve of her robes. “Since you are here, I am hoping that you can help me locate where you are. Yarrow was able to indicate somewhere in New Jersey, but that doesn’t narrow it down quite enough.”_

_“I… I don’t know the exact location,” you mumbled. “But I know that the land the compound is on is surrounded by trees… rocks and creeks. A river miles away. I remember, from when I first escaped.”_

_“That is still a good clue.” Nanashi reached forward, taking one of your hands in hers. Her skin was cold, but the gesture still filled you with some bit of warmth. Her thumb brushed over the scar on the back of your hand from your first meeting with Jason. “There are several parks and forests in certain parts of the state. Is there anything else that you remember? Any memorable landmarks?”_

_“There’s…” You trailed off for a moment, trying to scan through your memories, the scattered images from your escape and return. Between the general sense of unreality that came from the dreamscape and the lingering effect of the drugs, it was difficult, your thoughts sluggish. But it eventually came to you. “Hiking trails. I remember that there are hiking trails nearby. The tree line hid the compound, lots of private property signs…”_

_“Fucking New Jersey and all its goddamn nature.” Nanashi let out a humorless snort and let go of your hand. “But I’ll make note of that. Do some research when I can.”_

_“Have…” You paused, Yarrow’s rumbling purr vibrating against your back. “Have you told Sumiko?”_

_“No. Not yet.” Nanashi leaned back against the god tree, closing her eyes. “Truthfully, I’m afraid to.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because I’ve broken her heart many times before.” She exhaled, opening her eyes once more. “I don’t look forward to doing it again.”_

_“Tell her… Tell her that I’m sorry, too. For hurting or worrying her. I… I didn’t want to.”_

_“Sweet girl, I know that you didn’t. You chose this fate because it was what destiny had in mind for you. I’m sorry that your Lazarus and I were so caught up in our own egos that we dismissed your fears, your visions.” The moonlight was reflected in her eyes, the shadows from the tree slipping comfortably over her skin like a blanket. “I’m sorry that our monstrosity led to us failing to protect you.”_

_“Is Jason… Is he okay?” you asked, voice soft._

_“No.” Nanashi was blunt, no softness to her tone. “He’s not okay. He’s functioning, prioritizing. But he’s not okay. You mean a lot to him, himawari. And he had to watch you be taken away, helpless to stop it.”_

_Curling in further on yourself, you tried to blink back tears. You knew that it would hurt him. You knew that it would cause him pain. And you wished you could have spared him of it. But destiny was not kind and it was not merciful. There was a reason why you had come back to the compound. You simply had to find out why, make sure that all of this pain and heartbreak wasn’t for nothing. Yarrow curled in tighter around you, nudging your cheek with her head and wrapping her forked tail around your legs. There was a wordless comfort to her presence, despite the distance you could feel in your bond with her. No matter how close you were in your dreams, reality kept you far, far away._

_“How are you?” Nanashi asked._

_“I’m…” You sighed, toes curling into the wet earth, finding some comfort in the way it grounded you. “I’m scared. The Matron didn’t bring me back here as an oracle. She wants to turn me into a weapon, like Azrael.”_

_“I thought as much.” She tapped her finger against her knee. “What have they done to you so far?”_

_“Not much. Treated my wounds, took some blood samples and did a physical. Gave me medicine to knock me out again.” Wiping at the few tears that had managed to escape, you stared down at a lily near your feet. The pale petals drooped under the weight of the rain water that it still held. “I had a very short vision. I know that you’ll come here. But I’m frightened of the cost.”_

_“All things in life have a cost, himawari,” Nanashi told you. “Do you know what the cost will be?”_

_You did. But you weren’t ready to share it. Not quite yet. Instead, you gave a small shake of your head._

_“Not exactly. I just know that it will be steep.” Another sigh. You glanced back up at your mother. “Nanashi… what do I do?”_

_“Hm.” She stared up at the moon, still tapping out a rhythm with her fingers. “You wish for my advice?”_

_“Yes. I want to know what you would do, if you were me.”_

_“How about this instead.” Nanashi leaned towards you, tucking her legs beneath her. “I can never be you, and you can never be me. But I can tell you what I think will best ensure not only your survival, but our own as well.”_

_“Please.” You couldn’t help the brief sense of relief you felt, of having your mother’s wisdom at your disposal._

_“Play along.” When you blinked in surprise, she grinned. “At least at first. While that seed of me that is inside of you could harm you greatly if allowed to bloom unchecked, you have a great deal of self-control. Keep it in check. Let some of the darkness out, but do not let it go into full bloom.”_

_“But… I can barely even use these powers that you’ve given me. How am I supposed to have any sort of control over them?” you asked._

_“That’s simple.” Nanashi grinned, shifting closer to you. “I’m going to teach you.”_

_“But how—”_

_Your question was cut abruptly short as she pressed her hand over your heart. The darkness there, the storm that you tried so hard to contain, swelled in response. It was only in the dream, an echo of the reality you would have to face without her. But when she pulled her hand away, tendrils of darkness leaked from you, a gentle swell that came from the core of you. It didn’t hurt, not like the time you’d snapped and lost control. It merely felt… cold. A quiet discomfort in your bones, your dual natures fighting with one another. You watched with quiet fascination as those little tendrils curled and reformed into a dark flower that sat in the palm of her hand._

_“Focus on what you want and have an image in mind. Whether that be something large or small. I know that this part of you frightens you, that you dislike it.” Nanashi let the darkness she’d pulled from you spill out from her palm, slithering its way back to you. You flinched when the oily shadows curled around your wrist like a snake, winding its way up your arm. “Doing this, letting yourself accept what lies dormant in your heart, will likely change you as well. But you’ve been changing for a while. Think of this moment as the chance for you to emerge from your chrysalis and spread your wings.”_

_“I…” You hesitated again, shivering as you felt the darkness sinking back into you, absorbing back into your skin. “I don’t want to become a monster.”_

_Nanashi let out a soft hum. There was no anger in her reaction as you had feared. Only understanding, the closest you thought she could get to sympathy. You felt the darkness within you swell once more, making you panic, trying to shove it away._

_“You won’t become a monster.” Her voice was soft. Not quite gentle, but as soft as she could be. “Because no matter how you change physically, you will still have the same heart, himawari. And that heart could never be monstrous.”_

_It was hard to believe. Hard to accept that these changes, this **thing** inside of you didn’t change you in ways that weren’t terrifying. While you didn’t want to be the obedient doll that the Matron had made you, the visions you’d had of what you would become frightened you. As you’d told yourself so many times when you were alone, you were not what they had made you. But you were no longer certain if what you would become was a better option. _

_“Additionally,” she continued, “it will be easier for me to locate you if you let yourself use your powers. Even just a small amount.”_

_“Like calls to like,” you whispered._

_“Exactly. While Yarrow will do what she can to help us, she is weak when you are not near, and she cannot speak to us the way she speaks to you.” Nanashi glanced back at your familiar, who had fallen asleep once more, still curled protectively around you. “But you must be careful. Do not lose control. Your body is not designed for the seed of me that lies within it. If you push it too far once more, do not let yourself adjust to it…”_

_“It’ll kill me, won’t it?”_

_“Perhaps. But death is not my largest worry.” Nanashi gave you a humorless smile. “I worry that it will consume you.”_

_You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t lose yourself to it again. Couldn’t lose yourself to the many forces that wanted to eat you alive, to bend you to their will. Not only because you refused to let someone else control you again, to lose your freedom, but because you had a promise to keep. Even if it came at that great cost you knew was on the horizon, you were going to return to Jason._

_“I won’t let that happen.” Forcing yourself to cling onto the shreds of determination that you still had, you met her eye. “I’ll do what I can to help you. Both of you. And I’ll trust you to do what you can in return.”_

_“I do not take that trust lightly. Before you know it, you’ll be back home.” Nanashi extended her pinky with a sharp grin. “Promise.”_

_With a smile of your own, you reached out, linking your pinky with hers. It didn’t mean much, this small gesture, not when it came to the real world. But it still filled you with the comfort you needed, the knowledge that you now had two people who promised to do what it took to bring you back._

_“Promise.”_

\---

Nanashi stared down at the screen of her phone, tapping the back of the case in a short, anxious rhythm. The Lazarus had done as she’d asked, waking her once they’d hit the city limits for Cleveland. Few words had been exchanged, an infuriating awkward tension hanging over them. Nanashi told him what she’d learned from the child, circled an area on the map to do further investigation into, assured him (even though he hadn’t asked) that the girl was fine. Or, at least, as fine as she could be, given the circumstances. With that, he’d taken the dog and left, eyes dark and expression troubled. Each had their own problems to face quietly, their own worries and concerns.

The Lazarus could deal with his. That was none of her business, so long as the child was returned to her safely. It was dealing with her own issues, her own concerns, that she cared about.

In her six centuries of life, Nanashi had faced down many threats. Gods, monsters, men who saw her and thought that they could own or tame her. Each had fallen. Of course, there had been set backs. She’d lost an arm, lost friendships, lost people she cared about. But she had faced each with no fear, no anxiety.

The prospect of telling her wife, her Sumiko, the love of her life, that she had lost their child, though… It terrified her. Sumiko had been through enough heartbreak in her life, a shameful amount of that pain laid at Nanashi’s own feet. Having to deal yet another blow, having to share some pain, was not something she looked forward to. She took a deep breath, staring at Sumiko’s contact information filling her with dread. It was late morning, so there was no chance of her wife still being asleep. And Nanashi also knew that the moment she saw her name, Sumi would not hesitate to set aside whatever else she was doing to answer the phone and speak to her.

There was no way out of it, no way around it. Struggling to calm the roiling storm of her own emotions, she tapped the contact, raised the phone to her ear, and held her breath as she heard it ring. As quickly as she had been afraid of, Sumi picked up, her wonderful, melodic voice full of cheer.

“Nana!” she said, the way she said the name so full of love. Nanashi closed her eyes, let herself imagine the smile that her wife would be wearing. “You don’t usually call this early.”

“Sumi.” Nanashi paused for a moment, bracing herself. She tried to keep her tone neutral, but knew that Sumi had no doubt picked up on the tension in her voice. “I… I have some bad news.”

Straight to the point. It was for the best. There was a moment of silence.

“Nana…” Now Sumi’s voice was much more serious, the smile no doubt having melted away. “What happened?”

“Are you alone?”

Another pause. Nanashi heard the click of heels faintly over the phone, the quiet sound of a door closing. As close to privacy as either of them would get. She hoped that Sumi was in her office, not in one of the clinics she’d established around Gotham. There were too many sensitive ears there, too many individuals who could hear their conversation even behind a closed door. Taking another deep breath, Nanashi watched an RV pull out from the rest stop the Lazarus had pulled in to.

“I lost the child,” Nanashi said, keeping her voice low.

“… What?” Sumi’s voice was sharp, breath hitching. “Nana, what—”

“That was… that was poor wording.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, she closed her eyes again. “I made a mistake while we were in Chicago and the child was taken by Azrael. She’s in the hands of the Order of St. Dumas.”

“What _happened?”_ The same question, but delivered differently. Although Sumi was trying to hide it, Nanashi could hear the pain in her voice.

“I got distracted. I let my temper take over while dealing with Ba’al and the Lazarus had to deal with that fallout. The…” She paused, took another breath, tried desperately to calm herself. “The child knew she would be taken and we did not take her warnings seriously. I did not take it seriously. Because of that, I didn’t protect her the way I should have. I tried to chase Azrael and take her back, but he threw some kind of fucking holy flash grenade in my face and burned me. I was hurt, and I was slow, and he got away.”

“Is she okay?” Sumi asked.

“She’s… fine so far,” Nanashi settled on. She let her head fall back against the truck, eyes opening so she could watch storm clouds roll by. “I was able to speak to her in her dreams. She’ll do what she can. And you know that I will stop at nothing to bring her back to you.”

There was another moment of silence. But this one was much more loaded, the kind of silence where Nanashi knew that Sumiko was carefully thinking over her response.

“Why our baby?” Sumi finally asked.

“The… woman who runs this part of the Order…” Nanashi paused. Tried to think of the best way to deliver this particular news. “She is a demon, we both knew that. But she is one of the many who were tasked with killing the Lazarus. She took our child as a bargaining chip. A lure to bring him to her.” With a heavy sigh, she ran a hand through her hair. “Plus, now that the child has awakened that dormant seed of me that was inside of her, she’s a powerful potential weapon. It was only a matter of time before someone came for her.”

A fact that she had held close to her chest, hadn’t wanted to lay out for the child and the Lazarus. Not yet. There were many people who would seek out a young woman with the powers of a god. Nanashi was impossible to tame, had a long history of destroying anyone who even considered trying to own her. But the child did not. She was young, and she was scared, and she’d been controlled once before. Once she broke out of the chrysalis she had lived in for so long, there would always be some fool who would want to use her. It had only been a matter of time. But Nanashi had wanted to protect her from it longer.

“Where is our baby?” Sumi asked, an edge to her voice.

“Sumi.” Nanashi frowned, grip tightening on her phone. “I’m going to take care of it.”

“Where is she?” Sumi asked again.

“You’re still a messenger for Inari,” Nanashi reminded her, keeping her voice low. “Love, I… I know that you want to help. But you can’t get involved in this. I can’t let you give up so much.”

There was a good reason why Sumiko had remained in Gotham, why she hadn’t decided to travel with Nanashi. Her ties to the goddess Inari, her status as a messenger and a divine beast, kept her from becoming involved. What Hell and their representatives did was something she had to stay out of. If she did get involved, if others knew that an outside goddess had made a move, it would unleash a torrent of unrest that the world simply did not need. As difficult and as unfair as it was, Sumiko’s hands were tied. Nanashi was a free agent, belonging to no one and owing nothing to any pantheon. She could do whatever she pleased, sew as much discord as she wanted and come out of it with very few consequences.

“I’ll speak to Inari and figure something out,” Sumiko said, hard determination delivered with each word. “You just tell me where I need to be and when I need to be there. I am getting our baby back.”

“Sumi—”

“Don’t argue with me on this, Nana.” Sumi cut her off, tone sharp. “I love you. I respect you, and I know that you’ll do what you have to. But she is _my child_ , too. I will do whatever I can and whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” Nanashi didn’t like the way she sounded, how fragile as her voice was. She was supposed to be made of iron; unbending and unbreaking. But this was yet another blow to her pride, leaving her even more battered than she had been before. “We both know what happens if Inari lets you off the leash.”

“You’re not asking me,” Sumi said. “I’m telling you. I’ll figure something out. If I explain the situation to Inari, she can make it temporary. Let me back into her service once this is taken care of. And if you even think about trying to forbid me from doing this, I won’t have sex with you for _three months.”_

Sumiko, both past and present, had been beloved to Inari. If there was anyone that the goddess would show favor to, it would be Nanashi’s wife. But there was no guarantee that Sumiko wouldn’t fall too far into the corruption. A kitsune who fell out of favor, out of divinity, became a nogitsune. Nogitsune were wild, had a nasty tendency of becoming feral creatures. While that rage, that power, would undoubtedly turn the tides to Nanashi’s favor, she feared the potential loss of identity Sumiko could face. If she wasn’t able to enter Inari’s service again, if she became feral…

No. Nanashi refused to think about it. Things would work out for them. They _had_ to work out for them. She and Sumiko had come too far, had been through too much, to lose it all. But Nanashi also knew how easily she’d steamrolled over Sumiko in the past, how many times she’d ignored her wife’s wishes. These moments, the moments when Sumi blatantly stated what she wanted instead of bending to Nanashi’s will, were not to be taken lightly. Nanashi needed to be better. For Sumiko, for herself, and for her daughter.

For the future that they all wanted. And so she wasn’t banned from sex. That, honestly, was a fate worse than death.

“Speak to Inari,” Nanashi sighed. It was a hard blow to take, difficult to back down when she wanted to sink her teeth in and get her way. “Plead your case. And… please, keep me in the loop. Let me know what I can do to help you with this.”

“You know I will.” Sumi’s voice had gone soft once more. When Nanashi closed her eyes, she tried to imagine her wife standing next to her, resting her head on Nanashi’s shoulder and lacing their fingers together. In that moment, she missed her wife so keenly it was like a small death. A pain that radiated through her whole being. “I love you, Nana. We’ll make this right.”

“I love you, too.” Nanashi let the mask slip, put all of her heart into her voice. Tried her best to communicate it all too Sumi, even from so far away. “I love you with all that I am.”

“We’ll get through this. I know we will.” Sumiko’s voice was gentle, a balm to Nanashi’s sore, aching soul. “I’ll see you soon, Nana. You and Jason Todd do everything that you can.”

With that, the call ended. Nanashi stared at the blank, dark screen of her phone. Although Sumiko had taken it well, had listened to that news and only let it fuel her determination, Nanashi couldn’t help but feel empty. Drained. Worried in ways that she hadn’t been before. There was more at stake now. Not just the life of her daughter, the life of the many children still trapped in the compound with her, the life of the Lazarus, but her wife’s future. Slumping back against the truck once more, she slipped her phone into the pocket of her jeans and tried to focus. With Yarrow so tired, the Lazarus unaware of everything he was capable of, and her wife still tied down by supernatural bureaucracy, it would have to fall on her, at least for the time being, to do what needed to be done.

By the time the Lazarus returned, she felt a sharp tug from the child. Like a homing beacon, strong and steady. _Good girl_ , she thought, opening the door to let the dog jump up. The big animal was careful of the sleeping familiar, sniffing at her before he settled down in his assigned spot.

“Any luck?” the Lazarus asked, climbing into the truck as well.

“Something like that.” Nanashi pulled up a map on her phone, grinning at a particularly strong tug on the child’s end. “We may have another ally in the coming battle. Now, get back on the road. The child is pulling me to her.” She glanced up at the rapidly moving storm clouds. “And I think she’s found other ways to lead us directly to her.”

\---

The halls of the compound were almost eerily similar to how they’d been before you’d left. Just as clean, just as clinical, still reeking of bleach and cheap cleaning products. The only difference was how empty they were. When you were dragged from your temporary room, joints aching from the thin mattress you’d slept on, there were no children in the hall. No other prophets to be seen, the silence deeply unsettling. They had to still have some children around, a few to exploit to find answers to questions they had not yet asked. But wherever they were, they were well hidden. And with so many eyes on you, there was no chance that you would be able to slip out and explore on your own.

You had to make peace with your lack of control, at least for the moment.

It disturbed you, how quickly you’d once more gotten used to the lack of privacy, the iron fist wrapped tight around your throat and the leash you wore once more. There was no freedom in the compound, and you had slipped comfortably back into it. Your steps were sluggish as you followed a Keeper down the hall, your reflexes still dulled by the pain killers and sedatives they’d given you. The Keeper, a young man who couldn’t be much older than you, displayed uncommon patience, slowing down so that you could keep pace with him. But he still would not look at you, would not speak to you. Not without the presence of the Matron.

Ushering you into a room, he closed the door, the lock clicking. It was different than the operating rooms you had been in before, the isolation chambers used for punishment. There were padded walls, of course, but it was empty of furniture otherwise. Nowhere to sit or lay down but the floor. Weak from pain and hunger, having no food for almost a full day, you had to lean against the wall for support when a wave of dizziness hit you.

_Weak. Fragile. Powerless. Everything they had made you._

Gritting your teeth, you closed your eyes. You hadn’t come all this way just to let them mold you back into what they’d wanted you to be. What was the point of all that pain you’d been through, all the deaths you’d suffered through, if you were only going to be a pawn once more? The storm in your heart surged, the cold dark that Nanashi had awoken in your dreams spreading through your veins.

Sleepwalking through it would be easy. Giving in would be easy. But you weren’t going to go down the easy path. You’d chosen the painful way time and time again. No reason not to choose it one last time. Breathing deep, you let the dull pain in your healing ribs spur on the cold power that ran through you. If you were going to do what you had to, if you were going to give your mother and Jason what they needed, you had to tap into what little energy you had. Even if your body was weak, that didn’t mean that your heart or your spirit had to be.

When the door clicked open, you looked up, still leaning heavily against the wall. The Matron smiled as she came into the room, flanked by four familiar Keepers. Two had been the ones to drag you through the halls upon your return, one was an older woman who had been working in the compound since you were a child, and the last… the last was the keeper who had blinded you. Eyes narrowing, you pressed closer to the wall, farther away from the group as the door clicked shut behind them once more.

“Good morning, 127,” the Matron said, folding her hands in front of her. “How are you?”

“Hungry. Thirsty. Tired.” You flinched when the Keepers installed themselves in each of the four corners of the room. “What is this?”

“Ah, right to the point, hm?” The Matron was in an uncommonly good mood, that cruel smile curling her lips again. You’d rather have the ice-cold woman back, the one who hadn’t blinked at your screams. “Well, since we do seem to be running out of time before your companions arrive, that’s probably for the best. I have a test of sorts for you, 127. Before we send you for reeducation and programming, we need to assess just how those powers you hid away for so many years work. And how we get them to activate.”

Glancing at each of the Keepers, their expressions hard and unreadable, you wrapped your arms around yourself. You didn’t want to. Fear made your fingers shake, even as you curled them into the uncomfortable white dress that they’d dressed you in. It must have shown, a delighted gleam in the Matron’s eyes as she took another step closer to you.

“No,” you whispered. “No. I’m not what you made me.”

“Oh, you are every inch what we made you,” the Matron countered, voice low. Another step towards you, the darkness spreading further from your heart. “Almost two years away from this place hasn’t changed you at all. You’re still a small, frightened child, needing a firm hand to guide you in the right direction. The only thing that’s changed is that you’ve gotten mouthy. But you’ll give us what we want eventually, 127. I know you. And I know how to make you break.”

“No…” You whimpered, shrinking away as the Matron stopped in front of you. More than anything, you wanted to be brave. You wanted to spit in her face, to tell her that you wouldn’t bend to her will. But so many years of conditioning made you recoil, her cold eyes sending a chill down your spine. “No. You can’t break me.”

“Well. Let’s just see about that, shall we? You always did prefer the painful way, didn’t you?” The Matron simpered. Turning to the Keeper who had blinded you, she crooked one long finger. “Come here, Brother. You have the razor, yes?”

“As you requested, Matron,” he said, voice low. Approaching from his corner, you watched with wide eyes as he pulled the straight razor emblazoned with your designation number from his pocket. “Orders?”

“Hold her down.” Flicking open the blade, she regarded the razor, the way it glinted in the fluorescent light. “The rest of you,” she ordered, addressing the three other Keepers, “remain where you are. All of you will get a turn with her.”

“No.” You recoiled as the Keeper approached you, tried to hold back tears as his rough hands took hold of your wrists. “No. No, you can’t—”

“I am. And I will continue to do so.” The Matron tipped her chin up, watching with a cold amusement as the Keeper wrestled you to the ground, one hand on your throat, his legs pinning your own. You struggled as much as you could, still weak and sluggish, biting back a sob. “I _own_ you, little prophet. And it’s time to teach you that lesson.”

“No!” You screamed, squirming in the Keeper’s grip as he extended your right arm painfully. The scar on your palm prickled, the storm under your skin reaching a fever pitch. Pulse thundering, you watched with wide eyes as the Matron knelt, considering your exposed limb. “No, no, no, please, no…”

“Why don’t we start with the pinky finger?” she mused, grasping your wrist. “Make our way in slowly…”

The razor flashed in the light, lowering towards your hand. Time slowed, an untold number of tortures flashing before your eyes. So much blood had been spilled, so much pain had been wrought upon your flesh. Dozens of scars, and for what? You refused to be a tool, a nameless possession of this demon who had tricked her way into the Sacred Order. Not any longer. You would not let them control you. And you needed to call to your mother, let her feel you pulling at her.

The darkness swelled, cold and unnerving. Your fingers curled, your back arching as you let out a primal scream, eyes closed. The sound came from something deep within you, tore at your throat, made the Keepers flinch. For just a split second, the man pinning you was affected, his grip loosening. Although you were afraid, although you didn’t want to change, you embraced the darkness. Let it flow through you, did not fight against it. Unlike the first time in the chapel, you did not snap. This time, you _overflowed. Focus on what you want and have an image in mind._ You let your rage shape it, embraced that cold rush, distinct from the warm euphoria of prophecy. The darkness curled around your hands, your fingers, sharpened into claws to rip and tear. Curled around your chest, hardening to protect the fragile hope in your heart. Eyes snapping open, you stared up at the confused face of the Keeper before you. The man who had taken your eye. The man who had unwittingly sent you down the path that fate had planned for you.

Hatred was just as cold as your fury, your fear. The darkness spilled like thick oil from your lips, curled around your throat, tangled in your loose hair. Back still arched, your lips parted in a soundless sigh, you abandoned yourself to the rush. The shadows burst from the wound on your shoulder, hard spikes that twisted through the soft flesh of his throat, skewering him above you. There was a beat of silence, everyone in the room frozen. Then the shadows retracted, the Keeper falling away from you to clutch at his throat. Blood splattered across your face and throat, you slowly sat up. The other three Keepers stared, bewildered, as their compatriot bled out, his wet gasps deafening in the silent room.

The Matron stood, wicked smile on her face, and stepped away.

“Contain the threat,” she ordered.

The three remaining Keepers hesitated. As you slowly stood, felt the shadows drip from your fingers like a thick ichor, you could see the fear in their faces. Drug addled, terrified children and young adults were one thing. But you? You had become _more._ Closing your eyes once more, you thought of Samael. Of how you had his eyes, of how gentle he had been before embracing his fate and forcing Jason to kill him. Your ancestor, as much your family as Nanashi was now. When you opened your eyes again, you let the shadows burst forth from your back in a slick, oily copy of Samael’s wings. A reminder that you were still the child of angels, still had a divinity to your rage. These wings did not slump like the ones in the chapel, did not force you to your knees. The darkness embraced you, no longer sending pain through you the way that it had before.

The older woman was the first to move, her eyes narrowed in a look of hatred that was far too familiar. She’d always been stricter on the girls, quick to punish the smallest mistakes with a backhanded blow. But she only made it a few steps towards you before you let the shadows lash out towards her, veins of silver blue light pulsing through them. The feathers of one of your wings sliced through her throat, cut deep into her face. Black ichor and crimson blood splattered the padded walls as she fell, your hands curling into fists. There was a small tug at the core of you, the shadows coiling and slithering in response. A response from your mother to the call that you’d sent out. _I hear you. I feel you._

The two remaining Keepers rushed you. Both were larger than you, stronger than you. The fear in their eyes had been replaced by rage, the hands of the larger man grasping for your throat. Still reeling, you fell backwards, wings stretching out, slashing at the padded walls. The second man pinned one of them beneath him, made a futile effort to grasp at the slick limb. Screaming again, you clawed at the Keeper on top of you. Your nails sliced easily through his face, the scream he let out echoing in the room. But you refused to back down. You refused to let them win. Snarling, you plunged your other hand through his chest. Warm blood pouring down your arm, you shoved his body off of you.

The last Keeper let out a wordless cry, his fist slamming into your nose. Vision going dark for a moment, you embraced the pain, the warmth of the blood that trickled down your lips and chin. The dark rushed up to meet it, gave you one last burst of energy. Spitting out blood, you lunged forward, wings clumsily dragging behind you as you grasped the back of his head. Still snarling, still letting your rage control you, you slammed his face against the tile floor. Again. Again. Again. Over and over until he went limp, blood slick on the surface and a terrible silence falling over the room. Releasing him, you tried to catch your breath, felt the dark in your chest slowly, terribly begin to bloom.

_Control it. Shape it. Don’t let it consume you._

Trembling, you looked up at the Matron. She leaned against the door, surveying the destruction with a cold satisfaction. Blood covered the walls, the floor, your skin and clothes. Your wild flailing shadow limbs had torn through sections of the padded walls, leaving behind streaks of oily ichor. Eyelids fluttering, you felt the cold replaced by a creeping pain. Although you wanted to keep it up, wanted to rip the Matron to shreds, you couldn’t. Not without losing control as you had before. Once more, you closed your eyes. Thought of all the things that comforted you: fresh baked bread, Schnitzel’s head in your lap, the deep rumble of Yarrow’s purr, the smell of fresh rain, Jason’s warm, calloused hands holding your own. You thought of the warm, powerful magic you’d felt in Sumiko’s omamori, the love and care in every word of the letter she’d written you, her wide, genuine smile when she’d seen you on the tiny screen of her phone. You thought of Nanashi gently taking your hand and giving you guidance, caring for you in the only way she could.

Curling in on yourself, you trembled as the darkness sank back into you. It left an oily slick on your skin, the white of your dress stained black and red. But even when it had retreated, the bloom furling back into itself, the storm retreating, you felt… different. Changed, as Nanashi had warned you. A lingering coldness lingered in the tips of your fingers, edges of your nails still stained a deep black. When you looked back up at the Matron, your head heavy on your neck and aching, her form flickered. For a split second, you saw horns curling from her forehead, her pupils dark and bleeding horizontally like those of a goat. But when you blinked, she’d returned to normal, stepping over the bleeding corpse of one of her Keepers. Crouching in front of you, she curled her fingers under your chin, tipped it up.

“Oh, my lovely 127,” she purred, leaning close. “I always knew that you were special. The Keepers can be replaced. But you… oh, you’ll be quite the weapon for the Order. One that will make even the gods tremble.”

You slumped, defeated. Even in this, you had failed. The only thing that you had succeeded in was becoming the monster you’d feared, dark wings breaking through the chrysalis of who you had been. Hugging your knees closer to your chest, you closed your eyes. Listened as the Matron left, her voice distant as she barked orders. What would Jason think, when he saw what you truly were? What would Sumiko think? Would they turn you away?

What would you become, now that you’d succumbed fully to the darkness?

 _Yarrow is here._ A soft voice. Distant. But it was a warm touch, the bond between you and your familiar tugging at you. A gentle reminder. _Yarrow will always be here. We are coming._

Pulled roughly to your feet, you let the Keepers drag you back to your room. A cold certainty had taken root in you, even as you were thrown into isolation once more. Nanashi and Jason were coming for you. Yarrow would do what she had promised, leading when she could. And you would assure that none of the people who’d had a hand in what you’d gone through as a child survived when the red sun came to deliver retribution.

\---

Harrisburg was silent late at night. Or, at least, the area of Harrisburg they’d stopped in was silent. Near the edge of town, the only sound Jason could hear from his shitty little motel room was the buzz of neon, the distant rumble of semi trucks on the highway. Slumped in a lumpy arm chair, he scrolled through the messages on his phone. Over a year, and some people still refused to give up on him. Over a year, and he was ready to give in. Thumb tapping idly against a message sent to him by Koshka, one of her weekly updates about the state of affairs in Gotham and the family he’d abandoned, he wondered if it was time to make amends. To face the music and make things right again. Or, at least, try to. Dick, Cass, and Damian would all quickly welcome his return, he knew. But the rest… well, he suspected that if Tim ever _did_ forgive him, it would be after a long, long while.

There was a short, abrupt knock on the door before Nanashi materialized, a paper bag in her hands. Jason still flinched at her sudden appearance, quickly locking his phone and shoving it back into the pocket of his jeans.

“Fucking hell,” he grumbled, “can’t you just walk into a room like a normal person?”

“I knocked.” Nanashi deposited the paper bag on his lap, crossing over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Dinner. Greasy cheeseburger and fries.”

“Thanks.” Jason sighed, opening the bag and pulling out the food. Nanashi had pulled out her own phone, studying it intently as he forced himself to eat. It was rare for him to not have an appetite, and he knew he’d need the energy. But his stomach churned as he polished off the burger. “Got anything?”

“I believe I’ve found a general location for where the child should be.” Foot tapping against the shag carpeting, she did not glance up from her phone, even as Yarrow curled up in her lap. “The closer we get, the more certain I’ll be. And wherever the storm settles, that should be where she is. Watch the weather forecasts, let myself and Yarrow guide you, and we should be able to rescue her.”

“Where is this general location, exactly?” he asked, popping a fry in his mouth.

“Do you know of mountains in the state that are bordered by a river?”

“Oh, yeah.” Jason sat up straight in the chair, brow furrowed. “Sourland Mountain. It’s just a few minutes away from Princeton. One side borders the Delaware River.”

“Well, Lazarus.” Nanashi finally glanced up from her phone, looking pleased. “It seems we have our general location.”

“How the hell would they be able to hide away a whole building full of kids in a wildlife preserve that sees a ton of hiking traffic?”

“Simple. Bribe a bunch of politicians, put up as many fences and private property signs as you can, and make it hard for the average hiker to access.” Nanashi snorted, rolling her eyes. “Please at least _try_ to keep up here, Lazarus. Considering your own extra-legal activities, you should know precisely how easy it is to bend the rules a bit with some cash.”

“I’m not exactly on my A game right now, okay? At least not with detective work.” Scowling, he shoved more fries in his mouth. “But… does make sense, coming from a group with ties to the Templars.”

“More money than they know what to do with,” she agreed. Tapping on the screen of her phone, she sighed. “It is a bit of a large area to search. But if we follow the storm—”

“We’ll find Delphi.” Finishing off the last of the fries, he settled back into the chair again. “With you and Yarrow acting like magnets, we’ve got a pretty precision system, once we’re close enough.”

“Do you have any particular plans once we arrive at the compound, Lazarus?”

“Other than going full John Wick?” Jason snorted, crumpling up the trash and tossing it into the tiny trash can nearby. “I was hoping to have a bit of time to Azrael by myself. Get whatever kids are still there out. Take Delphi home and then put this whole fucking thing behind me.”

“So long as you allow me to take on the Matron, you can do whatever else you please, Lazarus.” Nanashi set aside her phone, clicking her tongue and grinning when Schnitzel got up to trot over to her. “Although I do believe that if the child’s count she gave me was correct, you’ll have one last challenge to face after this one.”

“And I’ll deal with it by myself. I think we can both agree that she’s been through enough.”

“For once, yes, I agree with you,” Nanashi chuckled.

Jason watched as she scratched the dog’s head, the cold veneer finally beginning to crack just a bit. It was rare, to see her presenting as anything other than cold and unfeeling. Reserved only for her daughter, her wife, and the animals. Scratching at his jaw, he frowned. Considering she hadn’t tried to kill him in almost 24 hours…

“Why do you hate me?” he asked. “I mean, other than the whole dragging your daughter into danger thing. Maybe I’m just projecting, but it seems like it runs deeper than that.”

“Do I have to have a reasoning for my hatred?” she bit back, quirking an eyebrow.

“Look.” He sighed, sinking further into the chair. “I’m not exactly your biggest fan either. You abandoned your daughter for nineteen years and only came back when it was convenient for you. But I plan on being in her life for as long as I can. And I’m pretty sure you want the same thing. It’d be easiest to know where we stand with each other if we just air all this shit out.”

“Oh, bold of you to demand something of a god who could wipe you out of existence without even breaking a sweat.” Nanashi snorted, cold amusement on her face as she waved Schnitzel away. Yarrow stretched out on her lap, letting out a soft chirp before settling down once more. “But you make a point. I’ll likely have to put up with you for the foreseeable future.”

With a heavy sigh, Jason reached out to Schnitzel. The dog immediately began to wag his tail, plopping his head onto Jason’s thigh and whining until he got a scratch behind the ears. As painful as it was to admit, Jason knew the only real reason Schnitzel had been so whiny and desperate for affection lately was because Delphi wasn’t around. She’d quickly replaced him as his dog’s favorite person, and it was clear that Schnitzel missed her. It had barely even been a full day, and they were all feeling her absence like a deep, festering wound.

“Go on then,” he grumbled, waving a hand dismissively. “Can’t be worse than shit I’ve heard from my own family.”

“You know…” Nanashi sighed again, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hand as she watched him with her cold, uncanny eyes. “I was human once. A very, very long time ago. I have no memories of what my life was like then. But I know that I was. My earliest memory is of waking up in the clothes of a miko, drenched in blood and aware that I was in the wrong body. What I was, who I was, wasn’t what had taken over. No memories from before of what had taken over my body, either. Just that bone deep certainty that I wasn’t what I had been. Sound familiar?”

Not the exact circumstances. But he knew what it was like to wake up and feel like he was too big for his bones, to have something bigger than himself living inside of him. Eyes narrowed, he didn’t answer. He just waited for her to continue. To get to the point.

“Mm, I thought so.” A cruel edge to her voice, she smiled, tipping her head to the side. “The answer to your question, Lazarus, is that I hate you because you went through something similar to me. But it didn’t consume you. You had a choice where I had none. And you still wasted it on petty revenge.”

“That’s it?” Jason scoffed, shaking his head. “Seriously? I just reminded you of yourself, and you decided to hate me for it.”

“Don’t you hate yourself?” Her voice had gone quiet, her eyes a shade darker. “Isn’t that part of why you meet my hatred of you with your own hatred of me? Not only because I was a bad mother, but because you see what you could have been?”

Jason didn’t know what to say to that. She wasn’t wrong, of course. But he also didn’t want to potentially invite her to kill him. Not yet. There were too many things he still had to do. Instead, he dropped his gaze, shoulders slumping in shame.

“There’s a very thin line between who I am and who you could become,” Nanashi said, slowly standing. “Take care not to forget that, and don’t pretend that you’re not all too aware of it yourself. Because the moment you cross that line is the moment I’ll risk breaking my daughter’s heart to take out a monster who would only cause her more damage.”

Holding his breath, blood running cold, Jason waited until the door slammed shut behind Nanashi before he slumped in relief. Exhaling, he ran his hands over his face.

“Good talk,” he mumbled to the empty room.

Getting up from the chair, he ignored the sharp pain in his side, stitches pulling with the movement. It was good. Pain was a motivator. Gave him energy when he needed it, a shot of adrenaline to push him through. Schnitzel quickly hopped up onto the motel bed, tail thumping against the mattress as Jason stalked into the bathroom. Turning on the tap, he leaned against the sink, forcing himself to take a deep breath. The weight of it all was threatening to crush him. A year ago, he would have turned to Koshka, sat in that ridiculous penthouse she shared with Dick and taken shots of vodka and spilled his guts out. But he’d turned his back on that, on all of his family, to protect them.

And now that he needed someone to talk to, he had no one to turn to.

Splashing his face with cold water, he tried to ground himself again. If he lost focus, if he let all the negativity and pain take over, he could fail. Failure simply was not an option. Not when Delphi’s life hung in the balance. Bracing his hands on the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror. Exhaustion had carved itself into the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his irises had gone dull and glassy. The same hollowed out shell he’d stared at for a decade, something more than himself lurking beneath the surface and waiting to take over.

A quiet chirp drew his attention. Jason glanced over, sighing when he saw Yarrow in the doorway. Weird blue eyes stared up at him, her forked tail twitching behind her as she trotted over to him. Drying off his face with one of the cheap, scratchy towels, he bent down, helping the cat up onto his shoulders. In a matter of days, she’d already grown. Still small, still kittenish, but larger than the little ball of fluff she had been when she’d first appeared. Yarrow butted her head against his jaw, a rumbling purr starting up.

“This is gonna sound really stupid…” He sighed again, stroking the familiar’s warm fur. “But it’d be nice if you could talk to me the way you talked to Delphi.”

Yarrow chirped again, tail curling around his wrist.

“Now I’m talking to a demon cat.” Jason snorted, turning off the lights in the bathroom before he stalked back into the room. “I think I’m losing it.”

Answering him with another of her little chirps, Yarrow hopped down from his shoulders once he got to the bed. Both the familiar and Schnitzel watched him as he stripped down to his briefs, hissing as the movement pulled at his stitches, the bruises blooming across the rest of his torso from Nanashi throwing him around. Chewing on two more aspirin, he doublechecked the alarm on his phone (very little time to sleep, but it was better than nothing), turned off the lamp, and slipped under the sheets. The bed felt cold without Delphi in it with him, the silent, dark room lonely. Schnitzel curled up as he usually did near Jason’s feet, tail thumping gently against his legs. Yarrow crawled up to curl up against his chest.

It wasn’t the same, of course. The familiar was too small, too fuzzy. Didn’t let out little mumbles in her sleep and didn’t have arms to wrap around him. But she did nuzzle her little head against his jaw, purred at the same volume as a cat four or five times her size. A different kind of comfort, but not unwelcome. Letting his eyes slip closed, Jason rested a hand on Yarrow. Although he knew what little sleep he would get would be troubled, no person there to gently hold him and help him get back to sleep when he was roused by nightmares, he still had to try.

But the warm weight of Schnitzel at his feet and Yarrow’s rumbling purr was enough. And when he did fall asleep, he dreamed of a small figure in the rain, warm fingers clutching his own and soft lips pressed to his skin.

\---

Time passed differently within the compound. There were no windows with which to watch the sun rise and set, no clocks on the walls, no phones or computers to glance at to figure out whether it was night or day. All that you had was the slowly approaching pull of your mother and the bond you had with your familiar growing in strength. Since your initial test, you’d been left mostly alone in the room the Keepers had taken you to. The book you’d requested was dropped off, food was deposited for you, but that was it.

But it was better that way. Isolation meant that you weren’t being pulled to show off all of your capabilities as a weapon to be twisted back into obedience. It meant that you weren’t going to be reacquainted with a razor. And most of all, it meant that you could figure out who the Matron truly was before she inevitably came for you once more and demanded things of you that you did not want to give. There hadn’t seemed to be much question when you requested the book on demonology, one that you’d once read for your studies. It was a familiar weight in your hands as you flipped through it, refreshing your memories of old lessons.

Ironic, you thought, being taught about demons per the order of a demon under the guise of religious studies. So many of the children had learned about who the Matron was without every truly realizing it. Or, if they had, they’d been disposed of before word could spread among the rest of the prophets. You chewed on your lip as you lingered on a page. That familiar tingling in your fingertips had returned. Curling up further on the uncomfortable little cot, you let out a soft sigh.

“As the next day dawned,” you murmured, blackened nail tracing the quote, “they called loudly upon Baphomet; and we prayed silently in our hearts to God, then we attacked and forced all of them outside the city walls.”

 _Baphomet._ The Sabbatic Goat, made of contradictions, equals and opposites to make a whole. A deity and demon who the Knights Templar had been accused of worshipping in the Crusades. Of course. If there was going to be any sort of demon or unholy being running an offshoot of an offshoot of the Templars, it would be the one that they had prayed and made offerings to. But how long had Baphomet been hiding in plain sight? How many of the Fathers who ran the organization knew who she was, what she was? And how many identities had she gone through over the centuries?

You closed the book, thoughts racing. God, destiny, fate, whatever or whoever it was pulling the strings behind the scenes had truly tangled every person in your life tightly together. The Matron, Baphomet, had gone to your mother to create a new kind of prophet, experimented and disposed of so many of your siblings until you were created. Jason had come back to life in a cosmic mistake, the result of a sleeping god turning over in just the right way at just the right moment, and the Matron who had raised you under a rule of terror worked with her siblings to try and send Jason to Hell, to reclaim a soul stolen from them. And then Jason had found his way to you. All part of some greater plan, each of you a cosmic plaything with no real clue of what the outcome would be. You hoped for the best, of course, and would do whatever you could to ensure that Jason was cleared of all of these troubles.

But you were just one girl. One girl carefully crafted and created in the image of an archangel and a nameless god, but only a girl nonetheless. You didn’t want to be more. Didn’t want to give in to the darkness spreading further and further through you. Even if you were powerful, you didn’t want your life to be dictated by that. You just… you just wanted to go back to your life and be the closest thing to normal that you could be. Until then, though? You would do whatever it took. Even if it frightened you. And even if it changed you in the ways your mother had warned you about.

Setting the book aside, you laid back and stared up at the ceiling. What did this knowledge do for you? You could try to go to sleep, to see if Nanashi was sleeping as well so that you could tell her and see what she thought. As old and powerful as she was, surely she’d run into Baphomet in a different form at least once before. But there was no guarantee that she would be sleeping. After all, you had no idea what time it was. And each pull on her end became stronger and stronger. They had to be close. Not only that, but you couldn’t be certain that the Matron’s real identity would help them more than the general knowledge of her being a demon.

You had to trust that Jason and your mother would know what to do. That they would be at their best, that they would save not only you and the other children, wherever they were, but put an end to your lifelong nightmare. The Order as a whole would still exist. But at least this one sect, this stain on history, would end once and for all. Although there was always a chance some other monster within the Sacred Order’s ranks would look at what had been done and decide to try it again, you suspected that Nanashi would do whatever she could to dissuade anyone from even considering it going forward.

Nanashi was many things, and you suspected that evil was one of them. But even evil could see the suffering of children, one of them her own, and do what it could to prevent it. Evil had standards. And while you would never call your mother a good person, you knew, with a bone deep certainty, that she was still capable of good acts. Or, at least, good acts for selfish reasons. Slowly, you lifted your arm up, stared at the Lichtenburg scars on your palm, the branching path down your wrist and arm. Stared at your nails, sharper and darker than they had been before. During your brief time in the showers, washing off the remaining ichor on your skin before you were given a fresh, unstained dress to wear, you’d caught your reflection briefly in one of the small mirrors. Your skin had been covered in bruises and scars, the still healing wound on your shoulder. But the wounds on your back from your first time losing control had still been healed over.

Not only that, but your hair had not been as dark as it had once been. For that brief moment, your once black hair was more of a dark, dark silver. Perhaps you had imagined it. After all, you were still fuzzy, still not functioning normally. You’d had strange visions before, seen things in your reflection that weren’t there. But when you ran your fingers through your hair, brought it up before your eyes, it was still that dark silver. Just a step between black and grey, another sign of whatever had changed inside of you. A switch that had been halfway flipped before now had finally been fully raised. No way back. But it was a change you would have to live with.

Lowering your arm, you sighed. You wanted this nightmare to be over with already. But it would take time. Despite how badly you missed Jason, how much you wanted to run into his arms and apologize for what you’d done, he had to be careful. Nanashi would be fine. Even with divine weapons used against her, things meant to hurt her, they would not kill her. But Jason was still mortal, painfully so. Even with all the changes the Lazarus Pits had made, the scars on his arm were a painful reminder of just how vulnerable he could be. For all his strength, his intelligence, his unstoppable drive, he was still human. And you were terrified that Baphomet would put an end to his long, painful journey.

“Ah…” You sighed again, eyes closing. “The isolation is getting to me.”

Feeling a bit foolish, you hesitated a moment before reaching out for the warm bond that tied you to your familiar. Held onto it like it was a lifeline, the one thing that could keep you from plunging back into the darkness.

 _Yarrow?_ you called out, curling your fingers into the rough fabric of your dress. _Yarrow? Can you hear me?_

 _Yarrow is here._ A quiet response, still distant. But closer than it had been before. You almost sobbed in relief, curled up on your side. _Yarrow is always here._

_Are you… are you close?_

_We are close. The Jason must retrieve what he needs. Then Yarrow will find you._ A gentle touch to your bond, warm and comforting. _Is Oracle okay?_

 _I’m… dealing._ The closest thing you could get to okay, all things considered. _Is Jason okay? Is Nanashi?_

_The Jason is very sad. Very angry. But Yarrow has protected the Jason, as the Oracle asked. The Goddess is also very sad. Frightened. But the Goddess is not harmed._

_Good. Or, well, not good. I don’t want them sad. But good that they’re okay._ You opened your eyes again, grip loosening slightly on the bond. _I’ll see you soon, Yarrow._

_Yes. Yarrow will see Oracle soon._

With that, one last lingering touch to the bond, she faded away once more. A distant presence again, but one that you could find strength in. A strength you would need, now that you could hear angry footsteps down the hall. The rapid, staccato beat of heels on linoleum. Baphomet, coming down the hall to take what she wanted from you once more. Sitting up, you pressed yourself back against the wall just as she slammed the door open. There was no human mask, her face creased with rage, inhuman eyes glaring down at you.

“What have you done?” she snarled, horns twisting up from her head, clawed hands curled into tight fists.

“I… what?” you pressed further back, instinctive fear bubbling up within you.

Something was wrong. But it was nothing that you had done. You cried out when she stormed towards you, falling off the bed and scrambling backwards. Moving with impossible speed, she grasped you by the jaw, baring sharp teeth.

“127. Tell me what you have _done,”_ she demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sobbed, back pressed against the wall and hands pushing ineffectively at her, trying to get her away. “Please—”

“The children are broken. Only one way to get what I want.” Shoving your head back, she ignored the terrified sound you made. “And another lesson to be learned. Let’s ruin that pretty face a little more.”

“No—”

Your argument trailed off into a scream as she dug her claw into your left cheek, just below the bone, and slashed up over the bridge of your nose. Hot pain erupted across your face, hitting you fast and hard, the sudden rush of prophetic euphoria rising before you could clamp down on it. Still holding your face in an iron grip, the Matron pinned you down as unfamiliar words in an unfamiliar voice rolled past your lips.

_“Amaterasu’s light_

_Exposes the fox’s shadow_

_So run, fox, through the red gate_

_To burn away your darkness_

_And return your snowy fur.”_

You came back to your body quickly, faster than you had before, blood streaked down your face. The Matron growled, slamming your head back against the wall and dazing you as she stood and glared down at you. Her rage had only grown, although she’d shifted back to her human appearance.

“You, the six children left here, all with the same stupid, useless prophecy.” The Matron snarled, hands clenching and unclenching as she stalked back and forth across the tiny room. “What did you do?”

“I… I didn’t do anything,” you managed to whisper, hands pressed over your face, trying to breathe through the pain. Your fingers were already slick with blood, voice faint. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

The Matron’s eyes narrowed. But with your face covered, she couldn’t see the way your nose had scrunched with the lie. The prophecy you’d seen before, her fingers digging into your shoulder, hadn’t included this. For the first time you could remember, the future had changed. A different presence had stepped in, one that you hadn’t felt before. But there was a warmth to the magic you’d so very briefly felt that had been familiar.

_Sumiko._

Turning away from you, the Matron picked up the book on the bed. Cold rage turning into a vicious smile, she gave it a tiny wave.

“Doing a bit of research, 127?”

You remained silent, slumped against the wall. Still bleeding, still scared.

“You’ve doubtless used those uncanny gut feelings of yours to figure out who I am, then. Do you have some system of passing that along? Getting it to people who can mess with my property?” she asked.

“I can’t,” you murmured. “You know I can’t.”

“Right. Because for all of that potential power you have, you’re still useless. Not without someone to point you in the right direction.” The Matron snorted, tucking the book under her arm. “You’ve always been weak, 127. But don’t worry. We’ll re-forge you.”

The Matron opened the door, a Keeper entering the room and crossing over to you. As he pulled your hands away from your face, inspected the wound, you took some comfort in knowing that she was wrong.

Your family was coming for you. And Baphomet would get what she deserved.

\---

“How long is this going to take?”

Jason glanced up at Nanashi, who had thrown herself dramatically into one of the chairs in his old, abandoned safe house. She drummed her fingers against the arm, eyes narrowed in boredom. Turning back to the stash he’d hidden under false flooring and a rug, he hauled up a bag of cash and threw it at her feet.

“Not long. I just need a few things.” He pulled out a sawed off shot gun, a few boxes of ammunition. “It’s not a long drive from here, anyways.”

“Time is still wasting, Lazarus.” She poked at the bag with her foot, nose wrinkling. “What is even the point of all this? You’ll have more than enough fire power with myself and Sumiko being with you.”

“The point,” he grunted, picking up a Bowie knife and tucking it into his boot, “is that we’re splitting up. You and your wife do what you need to. I’ll even leave the demon to you. But I’m taking care of Azrael and getting any kids that are still in there out.”

“Going back to your whole heroic schtick, then?” Nanashi chuckled, settling back into the chair again. “The valiant Red Hood, spilling blood to save the innocent.”

“That’s the idea, yeah.” Shuffling aside a duffle bag with forged passports and old aliases he’d used before, he pulled out one of his old helmets, rubbing off the dust from the surface. “Fuck with Gotham and the Red Hood, get burned. You send your message, I send mine.”

“Mm, nothing like a bit of bloody retribution,” Nanashi sighed. “One thing that we can both agree on.”

“Comforting thought,” he muttered, pulling out the rest of the uniform and setting it next to him. “Wait… if Sumiko’s in Gotham, how are you going to get her up here? We don’t even know the location with complete certainty yet.”

“Easy.” Nanashi reached into her shirt, pulling out the little bead that she wore around her neck. “We find the compound, and I call her to us. You forget, Lazarus, that not everyone is limited in the ways you are.”

“Right, of course.” Rolling his eyes again, he slid the false floor back into place, covering it with the carpet. “What time is it?”

“Half past five,” she said, checking her phone before she slid it back into her pocket. “Still an hour away from full nightfall. I’m assuming that we’ll move in under the cover of darkness, yes?”

“Since darkness is your thing, I figured that would be best.” Jason grabbed the bag of money, shoving the rest of what he’d pulled out into it and zipping it up. “Easier to infiltrate and hit them when they’re least expecting it and they can’t see us coming.”

“The problem is that you’re assuming they don’t know we’re coming.” Nanashi picked at her nails, still looking bored. “This is a place with at least a few other seers other than the child. The Matron is a very old demon and one of the last you’ll have to face. It’s safe to assume she’ll do the smart thing and get one, if not all, of those seers to feed her any and all information she can get her hands on.”

“You’re also assuming that all of those kids are going to see the exact same thing.” Jason stood, hauling the bag over his shoulder. “Or that asking so many kids to see the future won’t muddle her vision of it. She knows we’re coming. She knows the others have all been killed. Even if she’s a demon, she’s backed into a corner. And that, typically, makes people a little desperate.”

“So, you think that a very old and very powerful demon is getting an overload of information from a group of scared, abused children and is getting a little bit desperate.” Nanashi let out a hum, getting up from the chair and brushing off the dust that had gotten onto her clothes. “It is possible. Especially if this demon has spent hundreds of years being unopposed and unchallenged. I’m not exactly in the loop when it comes to how Hell and their associates have been operating as of late, but I imagine that it’s been a long while since any human has made it quite as far through their gauntlet as you.”

“I think that’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to complimenting me, Nanashi,” he snorted.

“Yes, well, don’t get used to it.”

With time rapidly slipping away, they couldn’t linger any further in the shitty little townhouse he’d used as a safehouse all those years ago when he first prepared to return to Gotham. Princeton was a nice town. If he’d been in his right mind, if he was in his right mind in the present, he would have just settled down there. Made a new life for himself. Used one of his forged identities to become a librarian, or a teacher, or a curator. But as much as he’d denied it, as much as he’d insisted that it was bullshit, destiny had had a plan for him, and it was about to reach its climax. Tossing the duffel bag into the back of the truck, he whistled sharply for Schnitzel, who had been sniffing around the front yard. Yarrow had become much more active since they’d crossed the state line, more energetic and less prone to dozing off when Nanashi or Jason needed whatever information they could get out of her.

They were close. Pulling back out onto the street, Jason turned up the radio, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the jazz song playing. Nanashi hummed along as well from the passenger seat, feet kicked up onto the dash. Yarrow had clambered onto the dash as well, sitting perfectly in the middle, her tail flicking over the display screen for the radio and air conditioning. Schnitzel, oblivious to the tension in the cab and just excited to be along for the ride, stared out the rear window, tail wagging and managing to hit both Jason’s leg and Nanashi’s. Once they were on the highway again, Jason keeping an eye out for their exit, Yarrow began to chirp, placing one paw on Jason’s hand as the exit for the Sourland Mountain reserve came up.

Not exactly the method of navigation he was used to, but he wasn’t going to complain. Taking the exit, he quickly learned which way he needed to turn based upon which hand the familiar tapped with her paw. She’d crawled into his lap, bracing her front legs on the wheel to easier lead him in the right direction. After a brief exchange with a gate attendant, Nanashi leaning over Jason and her eyes flashing for a moment before they were allowed access without the truck being searched or having to pay for day passes, they were in. Nightfall was approaching rapidly, and Jason was getting anxious. More so than he already had been, the fast-paced big band songs that had been playing replaced with melancholy blues, all weeping trumpets and raspy vocals. It set him on edge, a seemingly bad omen for the situation they were about to throw themselves in to.

Yarrow quickly navigated him off of the main road and onto side trails, dirt roads that he suspected were supposed to be used only by park staff and maintenance workers. There were very few hikers out, most of them smart enough to know they didn’t want to be out in the woods once the sun went down. It was a good thing, less witnesses for the multiple violations that Jason was no doubt committing by hopping out of the truck to force open gates to roads with multiple ‘no trespassing’ and ‘private property’ signs. Nanashi seemed unphased by it all, fiddling with her necklace and speaking up only to indicate that they were going the right way. Before he knew it, they were deep in the woods, Jason praying that the tires and suspension on the truck would survive all the rough terrain they were driving through. Slamming on the brakes, he turned the truck, parking it on the edge of a cliff.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, staring at the clearing below, a large and very conspicuous building in the middle surrounded by multiple fences topped with razor wire, “but I think we just found the compound.”

“Good to know you’re not blind and can see the building clearly screaming ‘hey, don’t look at us, shady shit is clearly going on in here’,” Nanashi snorted. “But yes. The pull is coming from that building. You can feel her there, yes, familiar?”

Yarrow chirped, hopping out of Jason’s lap and onto the dash again, staring out the windshield towards the building, a few halogen lamps around it flickering on as the sun set and storm clouds rolled in. Taking a deep breath, Jason surveyed the building for a moment. From the top of the cliff looking down, it was hard to judge exactly how big it was. But it was still smaller than he’d imagined, looking more like a small testing facility than the huge, multi-building system he’d imagined from all the stories Delphi had told him. Things did always seem larger to a child, though. And for all they knew, most of the building could be underground, hidden from any hikers who strayed off the path too far and accidentally caught a glimpse.

“I was expecting, like… an evil chapel or something,” he muttered, shutting off the engine and leaning forward, arms folded on the steering wheel. “But it just looks like any weird government building I’ve seen before.”

“Yes, well, putting a big evil church with towering spires would be a bit conspicuous. The Sacred Order of St. Dumas are many things, stupid among them, but there are reasons why they’ve managed to exist for so long.” Nanashi got out of the truck, leaving the door open as she moved to the bed of the truck. Jason followed, climbing into the truck bed and handing her bag to her. She threw it back in, pointing to Delphi’s bag. “That one, Lazarus. I won’t be requiring weapons, as I think my bare hands will be enough to take care of the mortals in that building. But I want to give you a few of the child’s things.”

“Why?” he asked, frowning as he handed off Delphi’s bag and watched Nanashi rifle through it. “The old costume I pulled out of the safe house has built in body armor and I’ve got weapons of my own, I don’t need—”

“Shut up. I’m doing a nice thing. Don’t make me change my mind.” Glancing up at him, she quirked an eyebrow at his surprised expression. “If you tell anyone, I will disembowel you. Besides, I figure that the child would want you to have some of her possessions to help you.”

Jason watched as she pulled out the archangel feather pendant, the omamori that Sumiko had made, and the kodachi. Nanashi handed them all to him, dark amusement in her eyes as he stared down at the objects.

“Samael’s feather to help you locate her, should you be separated from the familiar. The omamori to give you luck and protect you from harm. And the kodachi with which to strike down her captors.” She threw the bag back into the back of the truck, lips twitching into a smile. “Of course, I suspect you’ll want to go in guns blazing. But a centuries old sword carrying the essence of both a primordial elder god and a trace of her daughter will get the job done, if you so choose.”

“Nanashi—”

“Don’t thank me,” she interrupted, “or I will throw up.”

“Right.” Snorting, Jason carefully tied the broken ends of the pendant together, the feather resting against his sternum. Although he still had the feather she’d given him, he saw the logic in wearing this one instead. It was hers, whatever magical bullshit it was capable of likely attuned more to her than his own was. “I’m gonna suit up. You do… whatever it is you need to do.”

Giving him a mocking salute and rolling her eyes, Nanashi turned away, pulling her necklace off over her head and wandering towards the treeline. Jason picked up his duffle bag and hopped off the truck, wandering in the other direction and ducking behind a cluster of boulders. Pulling off his civilian clothes, he pulled on his old suit, the body armor in the upper piece still molding easily to his body. Shrugging into the old leather jacket, the red hood on it a bit ratty and still dusty, he clipped on the utility belt, strapped on his thigh holsters, and slipped back into his boots. Although he’d moved to a different suit recently, he missed the old black body armor, the absence of the stupid red bat symbol he’d painted on in an effort to fit back in with the family. Running his hand through his hair in a futile attempt to slick it back, he stared down at his old red helmet. Completely smooth and featureless, working on its own system that he’d set up himself instead of being connected to the system Barbara had made for Bruce and the rest of them. Pressing the release latches, he slipped it on, clenched his jaw as the HUD flickered to life. Not as good as it had been, a bit glitchy from disuse. But good enough. Taking it back off, he loaded ammo clips for his SIG Sauer, counted out shells for his shotgun and slipped them into pouches on his belt. Not enough to take out an army, but he wasn’t alone. And if he did run out of ammo, he had Delphi’s kodachi to fall back on. Fashioning a makeshift strap for it from the belt he had been wearing, he secured the sword across his back and checked the other pouches for all of his other gadgets. A few flashbangs (which hopefully still worked), some throwing knifes, a couple of batarangs he’d stolen off the streets, a handful of smoke grenades.

Not as much as he’d like to have. But he could make do. And if it came down to it, he wasn’t afraid to go at the motherfuckers with his bare hands. Slipping on his gloves, he put his pistol in one holster, the sawed off in another, and zipped the duffel bag back up. When he got back to the truck, helmet tucked under his arm, omamori slipped into the inside pocket of his jacket, he froze. Nanashi wasn’t alone anymore, a smaller woman who looked very, very familiar standing next to her, holding her hand.

“Wait…” He threw the duffel bag back into the bed of the truck, looking between the two women, who had both turned their attention to him. “Wait, wait. Nanashi, your wife is—”

“Dr. Sumiko Kurokawa, head of Kurokawa Pharmaceuticals, yes. Please pick your jaw up off the ground,” Nanashi snapped, grip tightening on her wife’s hand.

Sumiko Kurokawa looked both exactly the way she did in photographs and entirely different. Her white hair was swept back into a ponytail, her teeth sharp when she smiled at him. It made a chill go down his spine, her irises slowly turning black as darkness fell behind her.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Jason Todd.” Letting go of Nanashi’s hand, she took a few steps toward him, the bells she wore around her left thigh chiming quietly. “Thank you for looking after our baby.”

“Uh.” He blinked, hesitating for a moment before he extended his hand. Sumiko shook it with a quiet chuckle, stepping back towards her wife. “I… Hope to prove that I can do better by her, after all this.”

Jason realized only when Nanashi wrapped her arms around Sumiko from behind, resting her cheek against the top of her wife’s head and closing her eyes, that there were dark markings on the smaller woman’s cheeks, her nails more like long, black claws. Although he wasn’t as well acquainted with the mythology of kitsune as a practitioner of Shinto would have been, he was pretty sure the waves of dark energy radiating from her were _not_ normal.

“How did you get here so quickly?” he asked, glancing between the two women.

“I gave Nana a bit of my foxfire. She summoned me with it.” Sumiko folded her hands over Nanashi’s, her slit pupils turning a dark red that matched her wife’s eyes. Before his eyes, she changed, a pair of fox ears appearing at the top of her head and a large, fluffy white tail wrapping around Nanashi. Her true form, or as close to it as she was comfortable showing him. “I couldn’t sit back and watch while my child was in danger.”

“Right.” Jason nodded, trying to shake how unsettled he was by the woman. “I, uh. I appreciate it. You guys have a plan, or…?”

“More like a few ground rules.” Nanashi opened her eyes, reluctantly letting Sumiko go and letting one hand linger on the woman’s hip, just below her green obi. “Sumi and I will focus on destroying and killing as much as possible. You will leave killing the demon to us. While she may have taken our daughter to lure you out, it’s only fair that we get our retribution for the many years of mistreatment she was forced to live through.”

“Fair enough. And you’ll leave Azrael and finding Delphi to me.” Jason adjusted his grip on his helmet, glancing down at the building. Darkness was falling and time was running out.

“We will all make finding the child our first priority,” Nanashi corrected him, casting a cold glance towards the compound as well. “You may breach the building first, take care of some of the security. We will be close behind. But this rule I am about to tell you is very important. No matter what you hear, you must not look behind you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I will be assuming my true form.” Nanashi smiled, the shadows behind her stretching. “Although your brief experience with death and what resides in the Lazarus Pits may make you somewhat more resistant to madness, you’re still only human. And seeing what I truly am has a nasty tendency to drive people insane or kill them very, very slowly.”

“Right.” Hoping the sharp stab of fear he’d felt hadn’t shown on his face, Jason whistled sharply. Schnitzel ran over, sitting and remaining obediently still as Jason pulled out the dog’s bulletproof vest, strapping it onto him. Yarrow also slunk out of the truck, looking much bigger than she had before. “I’ll take Schnitzel and Yarrow with me, then.”

Putting on his helmet and letting the seals lock into place, he pulled up the hood as well. Jason took a deep breath, staring at the compound. Delphi’s childhood home, a place that had housed untold horrors, been a place where hundreds of children had died. Even without his knowledge of what went on within its walls, there was something… wrong about it. And that wrongness only seemed to grow as darkness fell.

“Jason.” Sumiko called after him as he stood at the edge of the cliff, planned out a path down the rocky surface. He glanced back, letting Yarrow climb her way up onto his shoulders. “Good luck. And be careful.”

Giving her a short nod, he turned back to the edge of the cliff and began his descent, boots skidding on loose rocks as he skidded from one rough point to the next. Schnitzel bounded down next to him, tail wagging as he easily navigated his way down to the ground. Trying to balance the cat on his shoulders, Jason grumbled as he finally made it to the bottom, night vision in his helmet slowly flickering on automatically. It wasn’t necessary, his eyes all too easily adjusting to the dark now as his body had changed. But it was appreciated, a bit of normalcy in an otherwise absurd situation. Slipping his pistol out of its holster, he double checked to make sure the clip was fully loaded and whistled for Schnitzel again. The dog immediately snapped to attention, sitting down and staring up at him. Pulling off the feather pendant briefly, he held it out to Schnitzel, let him sniff it, get the scent.

Having one of the Wolves would have been incredibly handy. But he’d burned that bridge a while ago.

“Find Delphi,” Jason told Schnitzel, slipping the pendant back on and letting it rest over his body armor. “Quiet.”

Clicking his tongue, he stood back up, Schnitzel crouching low and sniffing the ground as he looked over the fence. Lax security, for a place holding valuable assets. Although, he supposed, it was likely that anyone who made it past the fence didn’t get to the doors. There were a few guards patrolling the grounds, clearly armed. Dashing over to a blind spot, Jason crouched. No cameras. Weird, but there _was_ a demon inside that had kids constantly warning her of threats and likely had some idea of anything and everything happening in her domain at any given time. What use would security cameras be when you already knew what was going to happen? Shaking his head, he counted seven guards between him and an entry point. Easy enough, if he played it right and there weren’t any other traps. Screwing a silencer onto his pistol, he reached out, grasping Schnitzel by the scruff of the neck. The dog immediately crouched, low growl rumbling in his chest. Briefly letting go, Jason pulled out the bolt cutters he always kept in his utility belt, quickly cutting out a section of the fence that he could squeeze through. Yarrow curled herself more tightly around his shoulders, tail twitching against his chest as he held the opening for Schnitzel to follow.

“Too easy,” he mumbled under his breath. “Schnitzel… Hold.”

The dog did so, still growling, muscles tensed. When a guard rounded the corner, Schnitzel immediately leapt into action, running forward and jumping on the man, knocking him down and closing his jaws around his throat, immediately cutting off the scream that had been building in his throat. Jason rushed forward, pulling Schnitzel off by the back of the vest and putting a bullet between the guard’s eyes. Sliding off of his shoulders, Yarrow’s fur rippled for a moment before she grew to a size even larger than the dog, slipping through the night and pouncing on another of the guards. By the time Jason got over to the guy, there was no need to shoot him. The familiar tore another chunk of flesh from the man, swallowing it before she looked up at him and let out a rumbling purr. Slightly unsettled but relieved to have one more down, he gave her a quick pat to the head.

“Good girl,” he sighed. “Think you can hunt down a couple more?”

No response, but it wasn’t needed. Yarrow simply slunk off, disappearing into the shadows. Taking a deep breath, Jason glanced up at the sky, the storm clouds they’d been tracking hanging heavy above him. There was a loud roar of thunder, a crack of lightning. And then the rain started, a light drizzle that turned into a downpour. Grinning, Jason ran off in the other direction, shooting the guard he’d been approaching once in the back and again in the back of the head. Double tap, as one of his tutors had taught him. Schnitzel took down another guard from behind, viciously wrenching the man’s neck back and forth until there was an audible crack and he went still. Four down, three more out of his line of sight and unknown status. Digging out a treat from his jacket pocket, he handed it off to Schnitzel before carefully approaching a set of doors. No traps that he could see. It was almost like they _wanted_ him to break in.

Not a comforting thought. Of course, it made sense. The demon knew he was coming, knew what he wanted, and would draw him in close to finish him off herself. Testing the handles, he grunted, forcing one of the doors open and heaving a sigh. _Too easy._ But he couldn’t afford to back down or second guess himself. Not if he was going to get Delphi back, safe and sound. Yarrow reappeared from the shadows, back to being a kitten, her dark fur soaked with blood.

“Take care of the rest?” he asked her.

Yarrow let out a happy little chirp, forked tail flicking as she trotted past him and into the building. Schnitzel shook the rain from his fur, happily taking off after her and looking terribly pleased with himself. Removing the silencer and holstering his pistol, Jason Todd took a deep breath. Drawing the kodachi from its sheath, he embraced the cold rush of energy that coursed through him, the smallest bit of it familiar. Like a small hand holding his own, gently guiding him.

No turning back. One final push, and the whole nightmare would be over. Tightening his grip on the sword, he slipped inside and let the cold pull of the blade and the warm pulse of the archangel feather guide him back towards his heart.

\---

The sound of running footsteps in the hall outside was your first clue that something was happening. Slumped against the wall of the operating room the Matron had dragged you into, you glanced up, nose bleeding and a thick layer of ichor still coating your skin. It hid the bruises blooming on your flesh, Baphomet’s sleeves rolled up and her knuckles raw. She looked up, eyes sharp as the door opened and a breathless Keeper stumbled into the room.

“Intruders,” he gasped, hand braced on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “Like… Like the prophets said.”

“How many?” she snapped, turning away from you and fixing her sleeves.

“Don’t know.” He glanced at you, eyes narrowed in disgust before he turned back to Baphomet. “We can send off the remaining prophets like we did with the others.”

“No.” Baphomet shook her head, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at a spot of blood on her cheek. “Leave them where they are. We can fall back on extreme measures if need be. But I suspect this will be dealt with quickly.”

“Mobilize Azrael?”

“Of course,” she snapped again, snarling at him. The Keeper flinched, standing up straight and backing away. “What’s the point of keeping our angel of death sitting around if not to take care of the intruders we were told of by the prophets? Go. Stop wasting time and _do your job.”_

Muttering a quick assent and ducking his head, the Keeper scurried out of the room. You’d started to push yourself to your feet, to gather yourself and attempt to fight back. But the Matron had already clamped a cold hand down hard on the back of your neck, ignoring your grunt of pain as she hauled you up. Glaring up at her, you winced when the sharp tips of her nails dug into your skin. Not enough to trigger another vision, but enough pain to give a warning. You wanted to fight, wanted to struggle. For hours, she’d been pushing you into summoning the darkness inside of you, wearing you out to the point where you could barely even stand, let alone fight her. Limbs heavy, you let her drag you out of the room and back into the hall. Keepers rushed past you, some armed, some not.

“Where are you taking me?” you coughed, gathering enough strength to wipe at the dark blood streaked down your lips and chin.

“If we’re going to have a final confrontation, I think it’s worth it to make it dramatic.” Baphomet took you down an unfamiliar hallway, your heart sinking when you saw the double doors at the end.

“The operating theater,” you whimpered.

“Yes.” She kicked open the doors, throwing you to the ground. “The operating theater. The very heart of the whole building.”

Slowly, you pushed yourself to your hands and knees, body screaming with pain and exhaustion. Baphomet flicked the lights on, the large space slowly revealed. In all of your years in the compound, the theater had been a threat used to get children in line and a horrible, final punishment whispered about during meals or classes. Any prophet taken to the operating theater never came back. It was used rarely, only when the Brothers and Fathers high ranking in the Order came. A space used to exhibit what the Matron was capable of and just how valuable the operation was to the Order as a whole. A place where disobedient children met bloody, painful, public deaths, their last breaths spent screaming visions to be exploited by their murderers. Unlike many of the operating rooms, there were not drains in the floor for easy cleaning. The stage that you’d been thrown onto was made of polished wood flooring, an ocean of plush velvet chairs arranged for an audience of none.

Baphomet’s heels clicked on the floor as she walked past you, wiping at her bloody knuckles with her handkerchief before tucking it back away. Walking over to the operating table in the middle of the stage, she shoved it to the back. A large open space now, nowhere to hide or anything that you could reach out to with the weak bits of your shadow that you could still extend to turn into a weapon. Swaying on your feet, you did not fight her as she grasped you by the chin once more, turning your face one way and then the other. She sighed, running her fingers through your hair, fisting it at the back of your neck and smiling when you let out a pained whimper. There was a strong pull at the darkness swirling in your heart, one that almost stole the breath from you.

Nanashi had arrived. And she would no doubt take a scorched earth approach to finding you and bringing you back home. Despite the pain, the dizziness you felt, the fear you felt when Baphomet showed her true face, you managed to smile at her.

“What do you have to be so happy about, 127? Are you excited to see me kill your mother and the Lazarus?” She chuckled, jerking your head back further. “I can’t blame you. You always did writhe so when we hurt you. One last bit of pain before we send you off for programming.”

“Fuck you,” you managed to say, gathering yourself and spitting in her face.

Baphomet flinched, shocked for a brief, deliciously satisfying moment before she tightened her grip on your face and leaned in close, breath reeking of blood and brimstone.

“Don’t worry, 127.” Her nails dug into your skin as she pulled you closer. “Your screams will make for a wonderful mourning dirge as I tear them apart as slowly and painfully as possible.”

\---

Planting his boot firmly on the chest of one of the mooks he’d cut down, Jason slid the kodachi free from the body with a grunt. He’d barely made any progress but already cut down at least a dozen guys, most of them not seeming to understand how to even aim properly. One had gotten mildly lucky and gotten a shot off that glanced off Jason’s body armor, but most were taking wild shots. Thankfully, none had been dumb enough to try to shoot at his dog or the kitten tucked into his jacket. Not that he even knew Yarrow _could_ be harmed by bullets. Or anything, really. Flicking gore off of the blade, he stepped over the body and made his way further down the hallway. There were no alarms going off, but he suspected that everyone who worked in the wretched place had some sort of communication network. Either that or they were all panicking and trying to figure out where the hell the threat was and running into death like complete dumbasses.

Honestly, he did not care either way. Both options would still end in him getting what he wanted. And if he was really, truly honest with himself… it felt good to be off Bruce’s leash, ridding the earth of scum and making sure they didn’t hurt anyone else. The florescent lights flickered as he stalked down the hallway. Each of the rooms he passed were empty. No sign of life, just metal slabs and carefully arranged tools used to torture children. Schnitzel trotted alongside him, sniffing the gleaming linoleum floors. There was a distant crash, a muffled roar followed by screams.

“Well. Didn’t take long for the others to join the party,” he muttered to himself, sheathing the sword and pulling out the sawed off shotgun instead.

Schnitzel paused, lifting his head and turning towards a side hall, his ears pressing back. Letting out a low warning growl, he backed up a few steps. Approaching threat. Eyes narrowed, Jason pulled the dog back, checking to make sure a round was chambered in the shotgun before he rounded the corner. He just barely had time to squeeze the trigger and fire off a shot as Azrael lunged for him, gauntleted fist smashing into his sternum. Buckshot glanced off the regalia the other man wore, not even the force of the blast making him pause as he landed another blow to Jason’s stomach, making him stumble back several steps.

“Oh, are you the welcoming party?” Jason gasped, chambering another round. “I would have knocked, but it seems like everyone was busy.”

Azrael didn’t respond, advancing once more, raising his gauntlet when Jason fired again. Whatever the armor he wore was made of, it was clearly tough enough to repel even a point blank shotgun blast. Grunting, Jason ducked out of the way of a swipe, the claws of Azrael’s gauntlet coming a breath away from ripping through his throat. Yarrow climbed back up onto his shoulder, hissing as Jason shoved the sawed-off shotgun back into its holster.

“What, not in a talkative mood?” Jason said, ducking and depositing Yarrow on the ground as another swipe went over his head, the gauntlet ripping through the wall behind him. “Come on, big guy. If we’re gonna dance, you can at least be polite enough to have a bit of a chat with your partner.”

Schnitzel snarled, starting to move towards Azrael until Jason let out a high whistle, holding out his hand and stopping the dog in his tracks. As much as he’d enjoy having an edge in the fight, he also didn’t want his dog getting hurt again. From the way the eyes in Azrael’s helm were burning, his body language distinctly hostile as he stalked towards Jason, he suspected that the man wasn’t exactly going to be discerning in who he hurt and how he hurt them.

“Red Hood.” Azrael’s voice was pitched even lower through the helm, highly distorted. “My orders are to bring you in, dead or alive.”

“Oh, and I’m assuming that you’re leaning a little more towards the dead side, huh?” Jason laughed, dodging another wild blow and pulling the Bowie knife from his boot. “Don’t worry. The feeling is mutual.”

Eyes narrowed, Jason launched himself at Azrael. As fast as the man moved, Jason could move just as fast, eyes tracking Azrael’s movements as he blocked each of Jason’s swings. Spotting a gap in the armor, Jason feinted left, slamming his shoulder hard into Azrael’s gut and using the split second he was winded to slip the blade through the gap in the armor at his shoulder. It slid in perfectly, Azrael letting out a pained grunt as Jason twisted the blade and took his chance to drive his elbow up hard into the man’s sternum. The armor only made the blow hit harder, an audible gasp leaving Azrael as Jason began to drive him back. Tide of the fight turning in his favor, Jason stepped back and kicked the man square in the chest, sending crashing him back into the wall. Backing up a step, he smirked.

“That’s it? The Sacred Order’s big bad angel of death is a bigger pushover than I thought,” Jason taunted, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket and tipping his head to the side. “Come on, man. Even I’m better on my off days.”

Snarling, Azrael pushed himself off the wall, moving faster than he had before. Taken off guard, Jason barely moved his head back, the tips of Azrael’s gauntlet glancing off the helmet, scoring through it. With a wild, enthusiastic laugh, Jason brought up his arm, trying not to wince with the force of the blow he’d blocked.

“That’s more like it!” he yelled, grunting when the other man managed to slice through his body armor, the claws of the gauntlet slicing shallowly into his chest. “Work it out, on someone other than a kid or a girl half your fucking size!”

Roaring, he landed a punch to the front of Azrael’s helmet, knuckles stinging. But he ignored it, continued to advance, let the rage he felt fuel him. One, two, three punches to the helm, the chest, the stomach. He thought of Delphi, the blooming bruise on her face, her limp body. He thought of the fear in her eyes, how brave she’d been to willingly let a man who’d once saved her take her back into her worst nightmare. Snarling, he grabbed Azrael by the throat, ignoring the claws that pierced his injured side. Grip tightening, he ripped off Azrael’s helm and smashed the back of his head against the wall. Again. Again. Again. Just barely stopping himself from bashing the man to death, he let go, watched Azrael slide down the wall, sharp eyes dazed from the blows. Breathing heavily, Jason picked up the helm, turning it over.

“This is what they used to program you, right? To make you Azrael?” he asked, holding it up. “Alas, poor Azrael.”

With that, he threw the helm to the ground, raised his foot, and brought his boot down as hard as he could. The metal caved, pain from the impact moving up Jason’s ankle and calf. But he ignored it, stomping the cursed thing until it was barely recognizable. Azrael screamed, hands clutching at his hair, eyes wild as he stared at the ruined thing. Jason tried to dredge up sympathy for the man, but found himself coming up empty. Kicking the ruined armor over to Jean-Paul, he reached down, pulling him back up to his feet by the front of his fancy armor, slamming him back against the wall again.

“Time to wake up, Jean-Paul.” Jason cocked his fist back, delivering a hard punch to the man’s jaw. “I know you’re in there.” Another punch, blood and a tooth flying out of his mouth. “I could do this,” another blow, “all day long—”

“Stop!” There was no trace of Azrael’s coldness in the blue eyes that stared up at him, wild and terrified. Jean-Paul Valley held up his hands, blood streaked down his chin. “Stop.”

“Jean-Paul?” Jason kept his grip, shaking out his other hand.

“Yes, yes, it’s me. I swear, it’s me.” The man let out a shaky breath, almost slumping back to the floor when Jason released him and took a step back. “The Program—”

“Had better not kick in, if you don’t want me to change my mind about what I’m about to do.” Jason crouched, letting Yarrow brush up against him, her blue eyes focused on the other man. “Last I heard, you were AWOL and hunting down the Order. What happened?”

“Got overpowered. Reprogrammed.” Jean-Paul spat out more blood, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “I… I didn’t want to—”

“Didn’t want to do all the evil shit that you have done, you can spare me the sob story. I don’t have the time for it, and I don’t want to hear it, either.” Picking up the familiar, he zipped up his jacket, letting her curl up inside of it again. “How many kids are here?”

“Six.” Glancing nervously at Schnitzel, who was still growling, teeth bared, he winced as he pulled the knife from his shoulder. “The Matron knew something was going to go down and sent most of the prophets to other facilities. The ones she kept are ones born in the facility, some of the most used. They all had a melt down and started repeating the same prophecy, were locked in a secure room until all of this passed. 127…” He trailed off, gaze lowering to the ground. “You came here for her, right?”

“And the other kids. But unfortunately, my truck can’t carry all of them. So here’s what we’re going to do.” Jason rolled his sleeves back down, standing up. “You’re going to find those kids. You’re going to find whatever fancy jet or helicopter or whatever is in this place that let you escape from Chicago so goddamn fast. And then you’re going to take them far away from here and make sure the Order can’t find them ever again and they’re put in the care of someone who can actually take care of them. If I find out that you haven’t done that, or that those kids are in danger, and trust me I have ways of knowing that, then I will hunt you down and make sure that your death is slow and painful. We clear?”

“As crystal,” Jean-Paul said, wary as Jason took another step back. There was another round of screaming from a few halls over, the wet sound of bodies being torn apart. Glancing nervously in that direction, he slowly began to edge away from Jason. “If you’re looking for 127, the Matron’s been working on her for a while. The operating rooms are further down this hall.”

“Get the fuck out of my sight,” Jason spat, drawing his pistol and checking the ammo clip. “Before I change my mind. And you’d better fucking hope she gets out of this alive, or… well, same threat as before.”

Jean-Paul hesitated for a moment. Not the deadly killer, not the carefully programmed assassin, but a man in over his head. When Jason cocked the pistol, he lingered only for a moment longer before sprinting down the hall in the opposite direction. Although he felt a pang of disappointment, the vicious part of him that wanted to kill Jean-Paul Valley for what Azrael had done trying to win out, he shoved it away. He understood not being in control, trying to cope with the horror of things you couldn’t remember doing. Jason was pretty sure he’d never forgive the man for what he’d done, but he could at least punish him by making him face the things he’d done with clarity instead of falling back on the Program. Waiting until the echoing screams faded away into the distance, keeping in mind Nanashi’s warning about not looking, Jason clicked his tongue, motioning with the pistol for Schnitzel to lead the way once more.

Obediently, Schnitzel led the way, head lowered and nails clicking against linoleum. The dog didn’t even hesitate when they passed by what was undoubtedly Sumiko’s work, gore splattering the walls, limbs tossed haphazardly, a bit of her magic still lingering. It was hard to tell just how many people she’d torn through, too many pieces thrown about to get a good idea. Nudging aside a pile of intestines, Jason adjusted his grip on his pistol, glad for the filter in the helmet, even if the front was damaged from his fight with Azrael. Even with all the bodies he’d been around, he’d never gotten used to the smell of death. Schnitzel paused for a moment, raising his head. Sneezing twice, he pawed at his snout before turning back to Jason and letting out a soft whine.

“Right.” Sighing, he knelt, leaning forward so that the dog could sniff at Delphi’s feather around his neck again. “Sorry about that, boy. Find.”

Picking up on the scent again, Schnitzel lowered his head and lead the way once more. As they moved further down the hall, away from the sounds of violence and screams, Jason’s feeling of something being… off, being wrong, only got stronger. Yarrow let out a loud chirp, wiggling her way out of his jacket and leaping to the ground. Form flickering for a moment, the familiar took on her larger shape again, two pairs of eyes staring down Jason before she flicked her tail and trotted past Schnitzel. Leading the way. Clicking his tongue to get the dog’s attention, he followed Yarrow. She moved quickly, making him jog to keep up. As he moved, he realized that they were heading towards the very heart of the building.

“Would be the inner circle of hell,” he muttered.

Yarrow stopped in front of a set of double doors, sitting down and pressing one of her front paws against them. Last stop. Shifting back into her kitten form, the familiar let him pick her up again and tuck her away in his jacket. Jason had to take a deep breath. There were a lot of things he could be walking into. A trap, obviously, but he wasn’t certain what kind. He hoped he’d find Delphi inside unharmed, but his gut told him that likely wasn’t the case. He’d settle for alive. He wouldn’t be happy about it, but he’d settle for it.

“Stay,” he ordered Schnitzel, voice firm. Although the dog sat obediently, he did let out a soft whine. Feeding him another treat, Jason gave him a brief scratch behind the ears. “Guard.”

Settling down to face forward, body language alert, Schnitzel did as he was told. Bracing himself for the worst, Jason pushed open the set of double doors and raised his gun, quickly taking in his surroundings. An operating theater, or at least a weird attempt at one. The chairs were plush, fancy, a far cry from the utilitarian tables and instruments that had been shoved to the back of the stage. The sound of someone clearing their throat drew his attention, pistol raised and aimed towards the end of the stage.

“You’ve done very well, Lazarus.” A female voice, cold and emotionless. When he took a step forward, there was a sharp, “Stop. There. We’ll come out to greet you.”

From the shadows, two figures stepped forward. The lights flickered as the demon emerged, holding Delphi in front of her. Jason’s heart dropped, blood going cold when he saw the state Delphi was in. The dress they’d put her in was stained with something black and oily as well as blood. There was a fresh wound on the left side of her face, still inflamed. What little of her skin wasn’t covered in a dark substance was bruised, her gaze unfocused. The demon held her by the hair, no longer black but a washed-out dark silver. In the two days she’d been gone, she’d changed.

“Jason,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He tried to keep his voice even, aim steady at the head of the woman holding her. But it was hard to keep calm when the demon was holding a razor against Delphi’s throat. “Sorry it took so long.”

“Yes, yes, very sweet.” The demon rolled her eyes, tugging Delphi’s head further back and pressing the blade against her skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood. “Lower the gun, Lazarus.”

“I don’t think so.” Curling his finger around the trigger, he tried to line up a good shot, one that wouldn’t graze Delphi. “Want to at least introduce yourself?”

“You’re right. How rude of me.” The demon grinned, revealing razor sharp teeth as two horns spiraled up from her forehead, eyes blazing red and pupils horizontal slits. “Nice to meet you. Most call me the Matron.”

“So, you’re the one who runs this hell hole. The Order know what you are?”

“Of course. After all, their ancestors used to worship me, many years ago.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowed.

“Baphomet,” Delphi wheezed, wincing when the Matron tugged sharply at her hair again. “She’s Baphomet.”

“Right, the demon that the Templars worshipped once upon a time. Fucking fantastic.” Jason snarled, adjusting his grip on the gun again. “Let the girl go.”

“You’re really in no position to be giving me orders, Lazarus.” Baphomet sighed. “Although I’m sure you’re a quick shot, a real gunslinger, I don’t think you’re faster than me. Put down the gun and I’ll make your death somewhat painless.”

“There’s a very pissed off monster tearing through the halls behind me.” He snorted. “Not to mention Azrael isn’t Azrael anymore and is currently taking what remains of your prophets away from this place. All your people are either dead or going to die. You got desperate and you failed. Time to accept that.”

Eyes flickering in rage, Baphomet snarled, pushing Delphi forward and taking a few steps closer to him. Yarrow hissed, ears pressed flat against her skull. Jason didn’t dare flinch, trying to keep cool as he lined up a shot once more.

“Take off the helmet, Lazarus. I want to look you in the eye when I take away everything you care about.” When he didn’t move, she drew another thin line of blood. _“Now.”_

Motivated more by Delphi’s quiet whimper than by the threat, Jason did not lower the gun, holding it steady with one hand as he released the latches on the helmet with the other, tossing it to the ground.

“Happy?” he growled.

“Mm, well, I can see why 127 would suddenly grow a spine and throw herself into danger now.” Baphomet chuckled, grip tightening on the razor.

“Her name is Delphi.”

“Weapons don’t have names, Lazarus. Neither do my possessions.” Pausing at the sound of a distant scream, her eyes narrowed. “That would be the mother, then.”

“One of them. There are two.” Grinning at the flicker of surprise on the demon’s face, he smirked. “Looks like you got some bad information, huh? Surprise. You’re fucked.”

Jason knew the look on the demon’s face. It was the look of someone who realized that they were truly backed into a corner, no way out. Her prophets gone, her people dead, her assassin AWOL once more. And for all of Baphomet’s power, she had no chance against not one but two very, very angry mothers. Slowly, he took a step forward, steadying the pistol with both hands again.

“Before you get splattered and we ride off into the sunset, I have just one question for you, Baphomet.” He paused, glancing at Delphi for a moment. She was trying to stay still, her hands curled into the hem of her dress. “Why risk so much for one little prophet?”

“Not just one little prophet. A special prophet.” She glanced at the door as the screams got closer. “We were only able to harvest a select number of eggs from her mother. A few dozen. We went through the usual procedure with most, fertilizing them with sperm collected from our male prophets. But none took. One egg remained. So we took a risk. Used the last remaining amount of material we had from a direct descendent of Samael. And just like that, a miracle. One who never showed a sign of taking after her mother until now. But once she did, it made her both an asset and a threat once more.”

“Plus, she was travelling with the person you were really gunning after.” Jason sighed.

“Which made it all the more important for me to make sure she wasn’t roaming free any longer.” Baphomet hissed, baring her teeth. “No more stalling, Lazarus.”

“You’re right.” He grinned, the sounds of death growing ever closer. “So, you gonna make this easy and give up? Or do I have to shoot out your legs first?”

“How about this instead? Since you took everything from me, my prophets, my work, everything…” Her lips curled into a cruel smile. “I think it’s only fair I take away something precious to you.”

Before he could move, before he could do anything to stop it, Baphomet forced Delphi’s head back further, baring her throat and drawing the blade across it. The world faded away as he watched the blood slowly well from the wound. So deep, too deep. Yarrow screamed, a terrible sound that made even Baphomet flinch away, shoving Delphi away from her. Tossing his pistol away, Jason didn’t hesitate. He caught her as she fell, watching the blood pulse from the wound.

“No…” Jason clasped his hands over her throat, tried to stop the bleeding, leather gloves quickly slicked with her blood. “No. No, no, no. No, Delphi, you can’t…” His breath caught on a sob, tears welling hot in his eyes. “No, sweetheart, you can’t leave me. Okay?”

Fingers curling weakly around his wrist, Delphi looked… at peace. Like she’d known. Like she’d seen it. It made it all the worse, fingers shaking as he desperately applied pressure to the wound. He had to stop the bleeding, had to save her, wouldn’t let her be taken from him one last, final time.

 _Your love will ruin me. You’ve damned me. My blood will be on your hands. Just like everyone else you’ve loved._ Words delivered in a dream, by a nightmare version of her. But he should have seen the truth in them. Never should have given in and been selfish. He should have protected her. Not only from the demons, the Matron, every threat popping out of the shadows, but from himself.

There was another terrible, inhuman scream, Yarrow having slipped out of his jacket. The familiar had turned into an amorphous shadow, all glowing silver blue eyes and sharp, gnashing teeth. Launching herself at Baphomet, Yarrow ripped and tore at the demon, the razor falling from her grip as she tried to fight back, tried to throw the familiar off of her. Jason tried to focus on Delphi, one her shallow, wet, labored breathing.

The screams from the hall were right outside the doors. The soft click of shoes on linoleum. The chime of bells. Blinking back tears, Jason let out a shaking sigh of relief. It should have been dread, the slam of a body against the doors a sign of horror having arrived. But he could feel Sumiko’s dark presence as she entered the room. There was the gentle touch of a hand to his shoulder, a breath against his ear, the back of his neck.

“Close your eyes.” A quiet, gentle voice.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, keeping up the pressure on Delphi’s wound, Jason closed his eyes. For the first time in years, he prayed silently to any god that would listen that his heart wouldn’t be taken away from him.

\---

There was some comfort to the familiarity of death slowly approaching you. After all, you’d felt it so many times before. You’d fought it then. You wanted to fight it again.

But it seemed inevitable. You’d seen your throat being cut in your first vision, Jason screaming over your body, burning everything down around him. When it changed, when you saw the same thing, heard the same words as the other prophets, you’d hoped that your fate had been changed. Foolish, of course. You should have known better. All your life, you’d been fate’s plaything, tossed around as it pleased.

You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to leave Jason and your mothers. God, you’d wanted to live your life as you wanted to for once. Gone to the beach, tried new foods, learned how to swim. So many things left undone. Experiences you would never have. You tried to make peace with it. After all, you didn’t want Jason’s last memories of you to be of you crying or afraid. But even as you bled, his fingers doing his best to stop it, to slow it, your vision would not fade.

In sharp clarity, you watched Sumiko appear. Not as you’d seen her before. Her skin and clothes were covered with blood, eyes cold and dark. The hand she’d rested on Jason’s shoulder was tipped with black claws, the wounds on her chest and leg leaking a dark, thick ooze. Her gaze fell to you after she whispered to Jason, his eyes slipping closed. You should have been afraid. But you felt… at peace. Safe, in the presence of the mother you had wanted so desperately to know better. In the blink of an eye, her fingers brushed your hair back. You felt a warm, soft kiss pressed to your forehead. Eyes welling with tears, you tried to reach up for her.

But Sumiko had already moved, there one moment and gone the next, too fast for you to see. Yarrow had reformed as a kitten, ran over to you. Instead of your familiar, it was Sumiko who stood over Baphomet. A cold rage radiated from her and you looked away just before she began to tear into the demon. The sounds were bad enough. Wet, ripping. A gnashing of teeth, Sumiko swallowing the flesh that she consumed, Baphomet’s pained screams gradually fading away into wet gasps before, finally, she fell silent.

Yarrow licked at your cheek, crying as she nuzzled up against you.

 _Yarrow is here. Yarrow is here. Yarrow will not let go._ Her little hissing voice was soft, trembling, full of heartbreak. _Do not let go._

There was a distant roar, a scream as you felt a pull so strong that it hurt. Nanashi, feeling the life bleeding away from you slowly and painfully. She burst through the doors, a mass of shadows. The mere sight of her made your head ache, her true form making no sense, having no form related to logic. Not even to you, after all the things you’d seen, the horrors you’d witnessed. Just as quickly, she was back in her human form. Rushing over, she fell to her knees, hands hovering over you. It was the first time you’d ever seen her really, truly hesitate, uncertainty written all over her face. But just as quickly, she schooled her face into careful neutrality.

“Move your hands, Lazarus,” she ordered, voice even.

“I have to stop the bleeding,” he whispered, eyes still closed. “I can’t—”

“We don’t have time for this.” Snapping at him, she pulled his hands away. “Eyes closed,” she barked as a reminder. Reaching forward, she half-drew your kodachi, slicing her palm open. Dark blood dripping from her hand, she pressed it over your throat. “Come now, _himawari._ You’ve just spread your wings. You can’t go now that you’ve fully bloomed.”

The darkness inside of you swelled in response, rising cold and numbing. When Nanashi pulled her hand away, you could feel a portion of the oil slick flesh that made up her left arm wrapped tight around your throat.

“Open your eyes,” she said.

Jason obeyed, pulling off his leather gloves, soaked and ruined with your blood, and stared down at you.

“What…?” He glanced back up at Nanashi.

“That will stop the bleeding for the moment. But she will still need medical attention.” Nanashi stood, glancing over at Sumiko, who was still hunched over what remained of Baphomet. “Is that…?”

“The Matron. Baphomet. Whatever. Look, it doesn’t matter, I need to get her—”

You couldn’t make any sort of sound, only coming up with wet gasps. Frustrated, you reached up, weakly slapping your hand against Jason’s cheek to get his attention. He stared down at you, confused and frightened, one hand pressed carefully over your throat and the thin ribbon of darkness keeping up your fragile grip on life. With both his attention and your mother’s focused on you, you reached over enough to draw the shape of the gate you’d seen in your vision in your blood on the floor. Upon seeing Sumiko, feeling that warm wash of familiar magic, you knew that the prophecy had been meant for you. An unfamiliar touch to your gift, so that you could help your family.

“What…?” Nanashi blinked at your drawing. “Sweet girl, what is this?”

Growing weaker, more frustrated, you pointed at Sumiko. Then, finally, back to the drawing. Jason was the first to put it together, pulling you into his lap, hand still pressed over your throat.

“It’s a torii. A gate to a Shinto shrine.” He gave a small, watery smile. “A message for your wife. There’s a few shrines in Gotham.”

Eyes lighting with recognition, Nanashi nodded. Standing straight, she quickly took in all of the situation before turning back to Jason.

“Run back to the truck as fast as you can. The seal I’ve placed should hold. I’ll be right behind you. I need to make sure that Sumiko knows what she has to do to become herself again.” She glanced at her wife, your other mother, gaze warm as Sumiko continued feeding on Baphomet. “But your priority needs to be the child.”

“Right.” Jason scooped you up, careful to position you in his arms so that your head and neck were braced against his chest. Yarrow had crawled onto your chest, still crying, curling up tight. “Hospital?”

“How far of a drive is Gotham?”

“Why?”

“Because I can throw my weight around and make sure people don’t ask questions there, but not in another city. And Sumi can make sure she gets the best treatment there. If my barrier can hold for that long—”

“I can get there in half an hour if I push hard and fast.” Jason let out a sharp whistle, Schnitzel trotting into the room. “Hurry. If you’re not at the truck by the time I get there—”

“Leave us behind.” Nanashi gave a sharp nod. “We can find our way. Go, Jason Todd. I can only keep her stable for so long.”

“Nanashi.”

“What?”

Jason hesitated for a moment, adjusting his grip on you again.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t make me vomit. Go.”

Without another word, Jason turned and ran. Schnitzel kept pace, his nails clicking against the floor. Although the halls were dark, slick with blood and viscera, he ran with confidence, as if he’d navigated it for years and it wasn’t his first time there. With your consciousness slowly beginning to fade in and out, limbs cold, it seemed to take no time at all before you were at the truck. It was dark, almost impossibly so, the vehicle parked at the edge of the cliff. How Jason had gotten himself, you, and Schnitzel up there, you didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. He set you down carefully in the passenger seat, nervously looking at the band of shadows around your throat.

Reaching out, you took his hand. You couldn’t speak, could barely even keep lucid. But you still wanted to comfort him, to try to banish the fear in his eyes. Weakly, you squeezed his hand three times. A thing you’d read about once, a silent way to say ‘I love you’. You didn’t know if Jason knew the meaning of it, but he did attempt to smile.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispered, lifting your hand to press a kiss against the inside of your wrist. “I promise.”

“Lazarus!” Nanashi appeared from the darkness, Sumiko behind her. “Stop stalling. Let’s go. Now.”

“I don’t have room for more people in the cab—”

“We’ll be fine in the truck bed.” Sumiko gently brushed past him, reaching out to brush her fingers over your throat. There was that same warm rush, a touch of her magic. “The seal should hold, if we hurry. Nana will go in with you to the hospital while I do what I need to.”

“Hop in.”

Jason ran around to the other side of the truck, Schnitzel leaping in on his side and resting his head in your lap, letting out a soft whine. Yarrow had curled around your shoulders, trying to purr, trying to comfort you. Although you couldn’t see them, you assumed that Nanashi and Sumiko had hopped into the back of the truck. As Jason sped down dirt roads to find his way back to the highway, you curled your fingers into Schnitzel’s warm fur.

And when you closed your eyes, let yourself rest, you knew with a bone deep certainty that you would open them again. Death wouldn’t take you. Not yet. You still had too many things to do. And there were three people who you couldn’t, and refused to, leave.

There was one final hurdle for Jason to face and you had to be by his side, holding his hand when he finally earned his freedom from this nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was..... a beast..... to write..... Good Lord. but we're in the finishing stretch now, folks. 
> 
> dr. sumiko kurokawa belongs to [the lovely mari!!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmetea)
> 
> [support me on ko-fi! drabble commissions are open](https://ko-fi.com/difficultheart)
> 
> recommended listening:  
> [Volcano](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mIMgSVuW0y0)  
> [Oh My God x Precious x Scream x Lie mashup](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H70yqYgc9e4)  
> [Memory](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWooB4tpQ9I)  
> [Turn Back Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUCVRF6hjSQ)  
> [Aphelios, the Weapon of the Faithful](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQIeAbFT4Kc)  
> [Shadow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ufq44nMptnc)  
> [Hellbent](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X79sXBYYgIQ)


	12. Part Eleven: Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: mention of medical abuse; descriptions of violence, gore, mild body horror, and Jason's murder; aftermath of physical trauma; some casual ableist language; unreality

_[[listen...]](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1SaXI86xluGPEaFdU4-pwumh5GuZFtoGg/view) _

_The dreamscape was different._

_Not completely, but in small ways. The clouds above you were still dark, but rain fell gently instead of in a great downpour, just cool enough against your skin to be comforting. Instead of white carnations or crimson spider lilies, the field was filled with bright sunflowers, the wild grass tall, brushing against your thighs as you walked. It was not itchy, like the real fields you had run through in your time on the road. Instead, it was soft, gentle, like a loving touch. There was no god tree waiting like a sentinel in the distance, just an unending field of sunflowers, the blossoms leaning towards you, their petals brighter than the sun. When you reached out, let a fingertip brush over a silken petal, it was warm and pulsing with life._

_A part of you wondered if you were dying. This place you were in, the warm flowers that bowed towards you, the gentle brush of leaves and grass against your skin, the cool rain, felt surreal. A part of yourself, but distant enough, strange enough, that you knew it wasn’t all you, all your own brain dreaming it up._

_As you wandered, time seeming absent from the dream, you thought back on what had happened. On the drag of the razor across your throat, the visions that had flashed through your mind so quickly they were hard to keep up with. Things you couldn’t quite comprehend, faces that you’d never seen before, places that seemed far from the reality you had always known. A tangled knot of futures that you couldn’t quite unravel, even as you tried to pick apart the few things that had lingered long enough for you to remember them. They all felt like they were important, things that you needed to remember, but just out of your reach._

_One sunflower, taller than all the rest, bent close to you, petals brushing against your lips, soft as a kiss. When you reached up, it shrank away, wilted, once bright petals fading as they fell into your hands. The branching scars on your right hand flickered with blue light, a gentle rumble of thunder answering the pattern it flashed. Fingers curling, you mourned the dying flower for a moment, the petals turning to ash. When you opened your hands and turned your palms up to the sky, the rain washed them away._

_Once more, you began to walk, to traverse the landscape that your mind and something else, something just out of your reach, had conjured. The sunflowers no longer bent towards you, but pointed in another direction, the grass parting and creating a path. What it was leading you towards, you did not know. But your gut told you that it was important. That it was something you would need to remember, if you woke from this dream. Not a threat, but an innate truth. Mud coated your bare legs and ankles, feet sinking into the wet earth with every step you took. The dress you wore was no longer white, but spiraling patterns of red and black, the hem of it short but still soaked through with the mud that splashed up from each footfall._

_How long you followed the path, you did not know. But after a while, after your dream legs grew tired, your dream eyes heavy with exhaustion, the dream changed again. A hill appeared, covered with all manner of flowers. Lotuses, magnolias, camellias, peonies… all of them bloomed in psychedelic shades, a swirl of color that made your eyes ache. As you scaled the hill, the angle of it so steep that you had to sink your fingers into the mud and claw your way up, the distant rumble of thunder vanished. Instead, you could hear humming. Soft, at first, far enough away that it was barely audible. But as you climbed, limbs coated in mud and silken petals, it became louder. A low voice, soft, gentle. Familiar and comforting, yet strange and alien at the same time. It was a voice you could have sworn you’d heard before, but could not quite place._

_Finally, you reached the top of the hill, now a mountain, nails scrabbling briefly in the mud and arms shaking as you pulled yourself up. The haunting melody carried on a spring breeze, the rain stopping and the sun shining through the clouds as you stood. Even in the dream, you were breathless from the journey, dress plastered to your muddy skin, flowers tangled in your hair as your feet took shaking steps towards a figure sitting beneath a weeping wisteria tree, the blossoms a pale curtain that separated you from them. But as you approached, the floral curtain parted, and you beheld the figure. A man, as far as you could tell. He sat with his back to you, wearing pale robes. His hair was white, a wild mess around his head. Even his skin was pale, not a single inch of him stained in mud, untouched by the flowers. You had always hated the color white, associated it with pain and despair. But on him, it seemed comforting. Safe._

_You opened your mouth and tried to call out to him, to ask him who he was. Because you could have sworn that you had seen this strange man before. His presence seemed far too familiar, a gentle, calming thing that you knew down to your very soul you’d felt in your dreams before. But when you tried to speak, you found that you had no voice. No sound came from you, your throat aching with the effort. When you brought your hand to your throat, it came away slick with blood._

_In her dying moments, Baphomet had taken one final thing from you._

_Tears welled in your eyes. You knew that it was important that you get the attention of this man, this familiar silhouette. But you could not cry out, could not make a single sound even as you sobbed and fell to your knees, mere feet from him. It was so important to know who he was, but you were once again powerless. Swept in the tide of some fate that you were not meant to escape. Clutching at the front of your dress, your mouth opened in a silent scream, back bowed with the weight of your sorrow. There was a crack of thunder, a great sound that seemed to shake the land, the wisteria tree shivering at the force of it._

_And just like that, the man stopped humming. He raised his head, staring up through the branches at the gathering storm clouds. Your breath caught in your throat, the cold weight of despair shot through with warm branches of hope. Slowly, he began to turn. You caught only a brief glimpse of his face, his sharp cheekbones and pale skin, the dark pits of his eyes shot through with twin pricks of warm light. A smile curled up the corners his lips, his hands resting on his lap. He regarded you with something approaching kindness, a shock of warmth spreading through your cold, tired limbs._

_Just as the sky began to clear once more, he parted his lips to speak. But you were not able to hear what he said, as—_

You woke up. Eyes fluttering open, you felt a few warm tears slip down your cheeks, heart clenching as you realized that you had failed to grasp something so important. Staring up at the ceiling above you, you felt your breath catch in a sob, the waking world crashing in around you in one terrible, overwhelming moment. Monitors let out soft noises around you, the blankets pulled up over your chest were thin and soft, and the room that you lay in reeked of the same chemical smell that had pervaded the halls of the compound. Heart racing, panic shot through you, shattering the slight drug-induced haze that you had been in. Ignoring the way your limbs shook, didn’t want to work in the way you wanted them to, you pushed yourself to sit up, the IV line in your left hand giving a sharp, painful tug. The soft beeping of the heart monitor turned into a frantic echo of your pulse.

There had been a soft humming from a corner of the room you could not see without turning your head fully. Not the same voice as in your dream, softer and not pitched as deep. But it was the same melody, the same haunting, melancholy notes that had been carried by the breeze. Chest heaving, you whipped your head around to see Sumiko, her humming cut short as she glanced up from her clipboard, alarmed.

“Baby, it’s okay.” Sumiko set aside the clipboard, quickly crossing over to you. Her hands were warm as they cupped your cheeks, that same rush of comforting magic you’d felt from the gifts she’d given you hitting you like a punch in the gut. Breathless, washed in the sudden warmth, you began to cry again, fingers curling into the blankets, no sound escaping you. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe now.”

Gently, Sumiko guided you to rest your head on her shoulder, ran her fingers through your hair. Patient and kind, waiting for your tears to finally dry up. When they did, you reached up, much as you had in the compound. But this time, she did not move away. You wrapped your arms around her, sniffled as your mother held you close, murmuring soft words of comfort in a language you did not know. It did not matter what the words meant; simply hearing her voice, feeling the way her nails scraped gently over your scalp, was enough to tell you what it was she was saying.

_You are safe. You are loved. You are okay. And I am here for you._

Once you had calmed down, pushed down the fear that had bubbled swift and cold, Sumiko helped you lay back down, fingers still carding through your hair. Fussing over you, in a quiet, gentle way. You opened your mouth to speak, but could not, a sharp, hot pain radiating through your throat just at the attempt. Gaze soft and sad, Sumiko picked the clipboard back up, glancing over the equipment crowded around your narrow hospital bed before she turned back to you.

“It’s best if you try not to speak, baby.” Pushing snow white hair away from her face, she looked over an IV bag, the contents of it almost empty. “Although Nana’s barrier prevented you from bleeding out while you were rushed here, it was not able to reverse the damage that was done. You were in surgery for a long time. Your larynx and vocal cords were… heavily damaged. I’ve had you kept on painkillers and sedatives so that you could get rest, but…”

But your voice had been taken from you. Reaching up, you gently touched the bandages around your throat, the simple act of swallowing painful.

“Even with the damage and the scarring that will result from it, there is always a chance that with some speech and physical therapies, you can get some vocalization back.” Sumiko rested her hand lightly on your shoulder, thumb brushing over the fresh bandages there. “I know it’s difficult, and it’s terrible. But Nana and I will be here for you.”

Letting your hand fall to rest over your heart, you turned your head, staring out the large window behind Sumiko. The sun was setting, the sky drab and bruised, storm clouds rolling through, the patter of rain against the window soft. Four vases of flowers sat on the window sill; one a bouquet of sunflowers and daisies, the petals bright against the backdrop of the approaching night; one a bouquet of pale pink lilies and roses, a few splashes of lilacs added in, the vase tied with a satin ribbon; the last two were both composed of carnations and sprays of baby’s breath, one set of carnations a deep blue and the other a brilliant crimson. Sumiko followed your gaze, lips curling into a pleased smile.

“Nana and Jason both bought bouquets for you, but the other two are from some curious little birds.” When you gave her a confused look, she simply gave your cheek a gentle pat. “I’m sure that you will meet them, when the time is right.”

When you looked around in frustration, fidgeting fingers pulling at the blankets and your hospital gown, Sumiko retrieved a notepad and pen from a table just out of reach. When she handed them over to you, smiling at the relief on your face, she let out a soft laugh.

“I thought you might want these, since you’ll still need to communicate,” she said.

Ripping off the cap of the pen with your teeth, feeling the butterfly bandages on your cheek and nose pull at the movement, you flipped open the notepad and began to write. Not taking the time to make sure your penmanship was perfect, you held it up for Sumiko to read.

_Where are Nanashi and Jason? Are they okay?_

“Jason spent most of the day that you were asleep at your bedside, once you were out of surgery,” she told you, pulling over a chair to sit on your right side, where you could see her clearly. “He had some business to take care of, or so he told me, but I have no doubt that he’ll be back soon. Nana has been in and out, since she needs to stay busy when she’s worried, or frightened. I believe that she’s cleaning up your apartment now so that it’s ready for you when you’re discharged. They’re both physically healthy, although Jason did have to receive some treatment for injuries to his side.”

Slumping in relief, you let out a soft sigh. Although you wished that you could have spared Jason and your mother whatever emotional pain you’d inflicted on them, at least they were healthy. At least you hadn’t put them in so much danger that they’d been gravely injured. Tapping the pen against the notepad, you jotted down another question just under the previous ones.

_My cat, Yarrow, where is she?_

“Your familiar is with Jason. She didn’t seem particularly pleased at having to leave you, but went along with him anyways.”

Good. That meant that she was still doing as you’d requested of her, staying with Jason and protecting him while you were unable to. After a moment, you wrote down one last question for Sumiko.

_Are you okay?_

Blinking in surprise, she glanced from the notepad to you, tilting her head slightly to the side in confusion.

“I have my whole family back with me, alive and healing,” she told you softly. “Why would I not be okay?”

You hesitated for a moment, pen tapping in a staccato rhythm against the notepad before you flipped to a new page and wrote down your response.

_You were different in the Compound. Someone sent me a vision to help you. And you looked like you were hurt. I just want to make sure that you’re okay, that I was able to help in some way._

Face melting into an expression of open fondness, she brushed her knuckles over your cheek, careful to avoid the still healing wound there. Such a soft gesture, borne of love. It nearly brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, but you swallowed them, determined not to cry. Not again, not when you needed to be brave and strong.

“In order to come and save you, I had to temporarily become something other than what I normally am.” When you leaned into her touch, her smile only grew in warmth, in joy. “But Inari gave me what I needed to become myself again, before the night ended. I am fine, sweet girl. Unhurt and overwhelmed with joy to finally have you with us. How could I not be okay, now that I’m able to hold you and care for you, my child?”

With trembling hands, you wrote a simple response to her.

_Thank you._

There was more that needed to be said. To get across how overwhelmingly grateful you were to see her safe, to know that she still loved you, to let her know that although you’d only truly known her for a few brief moments, you loved her, too. But you couldn’t write it all down yet, feared that you didn’t have the right words for it.

“You never have to walk alone again,” she whispered, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “I’m going to have one of the nurses get you a new IV bag, make sure that the drip is still working properly so you’re not in pain. But if you need anything, just press this little button, okay?”

Motioning to a small panel of buttons on the side of the bed, she indicated the largest button, ‘CALL’ written in large letters across it. Although you wanted to cling to her, to make her stay so that you weren’t alone with your thoughts and fears, you knew that you had to let her do what she needed to. Nanashi had briefly mentioned to you, once, that she was a doctor. She surely had other patients to tend to, ones that were just as important as you. Giving a small nod, you watched her stand and retrieve her clipboard, throwing one last look at you over her shoulder before she slid open the door and left.

Suddenly alone, you glanced around the room, unnerved by how unfamiliar it all was. You’d never been in a real hospital before, only the medical bays and operation rooms of the compound. From what you’d seen on TV and in movies, it was not necessarily common to have a hospital room to yourself; that must have been one of the demands that Nanashi had mentioned she would make that night. A nurse entered the room, giving you a kind smile when you startled at his appearance. His voice was soft, deep, soothing as he greeted you. For the brief time that he was in the room, he continued to speak, filling the silence and explaining what he was doing. Gently guiding you into an understanding of each thing he did, he eased your instinctive fear of receiving any form of medical care from a stranger. He replaced your IV drip, made sure that you were getting the correct dose of painkillers, took your temperature and your blood pressure, explained that there were wireless diodes on your chest that hooked up to the monitors, and brought you a glass and a pitcher of water when you wrote down a request for it. By the time he left the room, making sure that you were settled comfortably and showing you how to work the remote for the TV that had been installed in one corner, you were feeling more at ease. Not quite comfortable, but far from afraid, as you had been before.

This was not the compound. You would not wake up uncertain of what had been done to you, feeling changed and enduring strange pains, pumped full of drugs that you did not know the name of. Sumiko was there, just a button press away. She would take care of you. And you suspected, after seeing the way both of your mothers had torn apart your captors, that no one would dare harm you while they were around. Laying back, the front of the bed tilted up so that you were closer to a sitting position, you flipped idly through channels on the TV. Settling on a baking show, you drifted in and out of consciousness, reality surreal through the fuzzy lens of the medications pumped into you, keeping the pain from taking over and shattering your mind with a barrage of visions. You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you grew restless, half-awake and fiddling with your sheets, the sleeves of your hospital gown, spinning the pen between your fingers and folding the pages of the notepad you had written on over and over and over. Going stir-crazy, unable to sit still, your anxiety and some not-yet-labelled thing inside of you that kept you needing to _move_ had you swinging your weak legs out of the hospital bed, tugging your IV drip along with you as you moved on unsteady feet to the window sill.

Night had fallen fully, rain still tapping a soothing pattern against the glass, the clouds and the busy city lights of Gotham smothering the stars that you’d been able to see out on the road. It felt lonely, staring up at the dark sky and not seeing a thousand little beacons of light blinking back at you. Trying to shake away the melancholy that was rapidly setting in, you looked over the bouquets that had been given to you. None of them had cards with them, leaving you unable to guess who had left what, which of them were gifts from the curious birds that Sumiko had mentioned. Frowning, you shifted restlessly on your feet, frustrated at even this small mystery. Reaching out, you let your fingertip skim over the petal of one of the sunflowers, as you had in the dream. But it was not as warm, did not pulse as those dream flowers had. Slumping, you let your hand fall once more. Even with the splash of color that the blossoms brought to the otherwise drab room, the light floral scent that drifted from them when you stood so close, you could not help but feel a small pang of disappointment at reality.

The hospital door slammed open behind you, the violence with which it had slid on its tracks making the whole thing shake and shudder. Jumping, you whirled around at the sudden noise, eyes wide and hands clutching at the IV pole as if you had the strength to swing it as a weapon (you did not, but the idea of being a threat was comforting). Jason Todd stood in the doorway, chest heaving, clothes disheveled and rain dripping from the ends of his hair to the floor. Your heart fluttered in your chest, grip loosening on the pole. For one long moment, you simply stared at one another, the only sound his heavy breathing and your own thundering pulse making the heart monitor go wild. Ignoring the echoing voice of a nurse calling after him, Jason slid the door shut and closed the distance between you in a few strides, his hands cupping your face before his lips crashed against your own in a hungry, desperate kiss. It stole your breath, made your heart race even faster, beating a desperate rhythm against your aching ribs, your hands coming up to clutch at his jacket. You pulled him closer, gravitated towards the feverish warmth of his body, the heat of his kiss, the sheer _want_ in it making you feel a bit dizzy.

When he finally pulled back, let you gasp for breath, you did not get a chance to open your eyes before he was pulling you into a tight embrace, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other wound around your waist. Face buried in his chest, you tried to stay strong, to blink back the tears that threatened to spill. When you heard him take a shaking breath, felt him hold you a little tighter, his hands shaking, your heart cracked, sorrow spilling out as you wrapped your arms around him. You tried to hold him together as he fell apart, his tears falling warm on your skin, his head bent to rest against your shoulder. Closing your eyes, you let him hold you, did your best to comfort him as he shook, clutched at the thin fabric of your hospital gown.

“Delphi…” His voice was broken and raw, barely above a whisper, wet with the tears that spilled down his cheeks and soaked into your skin. “I… you… I was so _scared—”_

You wished that you could speak, find some words to comfort him, to let him know that you were there. That you were okay, or as close to it as you could be. That you wouldn’t leave him, not again. But that had been stolen from you, along with so many other things. Pulling back from him slightly, you urged him to lift his head, to look you in the eye. He looked miserable, terrified, his normally bright eyes glassy and bloodshot. Heart cracking further, you gave him a shaking smile, wiping his tears away with gentle, trembling hands. You wanted to tell him that you loved him, but had to hope that your bleeding heart and soft touch was enough. Bringing a hand up to rest over your own, he took a deep breath, eyes slipping closed.

“I… I had to take care of a few things while you were asleep, call in a few favors, so I didn’t see Dr. Kurokawa’s text that you were awake until later. I got here as fast as I could, and I… I just…” He sighed, fingers curling around your own, forehead resting against yours. “You’re here. You’re okay.”

Slowly, you nodded, moving forward to press your lips against his once more, softer this time. A lingering, sweet kiss. A gentle touch that you hoped would bring him some comfort. When you pulled back, some of the dark edge had bled out of his eyes, his lips curling into an almost-smile. His fingers slipped down to curl around your wrist, calloused tips pressing just hard enough to feel your pulse. A silent reminder that you were real. You were there. You were alive. Forced into silence, you remained still for a long moment, let him take his time to absorb the situation. When he took a deep, steadying breath, hand dropping from your wrist, you tangled your fingers in his and quietly tugged him back towards the hospital bed. He went easily, helped you lay back down, adjusted the pillows so that you were comfortable. By the time he’d pulled up the same chair Sumiko had sat in, you’d opened up the notepad again, the TV muted while you wrote down a quick note to him.

_I’m sorry. I’m glad that you’re okay. I didn’t mean to worry you or hurt you._

Jason read over the note, lingering pain in his expression as he did so. Although you were alive, it came at a steep cost. Sighing, he braced his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his damp hair and shaking his head.

“You don’t have to apologize, Delphi. Nanashi and I… we both got too caught up in our own egos and you had to pay the price for that. I was worried, and I was scared. And it hurts to see you like this.” Running a hand over his jaw, he met your eye. “But it’s okay. Because you’re home. You’re safe. You have your family. That’s all that matters.”

_And I have you, too._

The smile that tugged at Jason’s lips was closer to genuine, less pained when he read that note. Letting out a soft chuckle, he reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah,” he murmured, fingers lingering at the edge of the bandages around your throat. “You have me. For as long as you want me, you’ll have me.”

Quickly, you jotted down another question for him, shoving it towards him before you had to see his expression fall once more. He blinked, startled, but took the notepad from you.

_Thank you for the flowers. None of them had cards, so I couldn’t tell who bought me what. Sumiko also said that two were from ‘curious little birds.’ Do you know what that means?_

Jason heaved an extremely heavy sigh, leaning back in the chair and glancing over at the flowers on the windowsill.

“I bought you the one with the lilies and roses. The, uh… The florist I spoke to on the phone said that they were popular, and they looked pretty on the website.” Clearing his throat, tips of his ears flushed, he moved on, but not before you caught his brief moment of embarrassment. _Cute._ “Nanashi got you the sunflowers and daisies. She said that they fit you and would brighten up the room. The other two…” He trailed off, expression troubled. “They’re from a couple of my siblings.”

 _Oh._ Jason had mentioned his siblings in passing but had never gone into any kind of detail about them, only briefly mentioned that it had been well over a year since he had talked to his family. You hadn’t wanted to pry, had understood that when he wanted to talk to you about the situation, he would. Not wanting to push him past a point of comfort, you simply watched him, sat patiently as he worked through his thoughts. Scratching at the stubble on his jaw, his eyes lingered on the two vases of carnations.

“The blue ones are from my older brother Dick and his partner. When you were in surgery, I… I reached out to them. His partner was pretty pissed, but Dick… Dick’s always been the one to hold back his anger. I think he was just glad to know that I was still alive, since I just up and disappeared from Gotham. They wanted to send you flowers after I told them about what happened.” Another pause, his gaze flicking back to you. “The red ones are from my sister, Cass. I… I actually went to see her today. We’ve always been close, and she was in Hong Kong while I was AWOL and just got back to Gotham, so… not as awkward as it could have been. She’s non-verbal. I, uh. I asked if she’d be willing to teach you some sign language.”

You were overwhelmed for a moment. Not only at this sudden openness from Jason, but from the knowledge that his siblings, who had never even met you, had heard about you and taken a moment out of their day to share a bit of kindness. These people you didn’t know, who you hadn’t even heard of, had sent you something in hopes of cheering you up. Gifts that wished well. Glancing over at the flowers, you looked at them with new eyes, new admiration. Gathering yourself, you flipped to a new page, taking care with the next message you wrote.

_If you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to meet all your family someday. Please thank your brother and his partner for the flowers for me. And if your sister is willing to teach me, I’d like to learn. I don’t know if I’ll ever get my voice back, and it would be nice to have a way to communicate outside of writing._

“I’ll let them know you appreciate the flowers.” Jason smiled, his fingers brushing against yours when he handed back the notepad. “One day… One day, I hope you can meet all of them, too. There’s a lot of things I’ll need to do, first, to make up for what I’ve done to them.” He had to pause, gather himself, before he continued. “Cass was actually really excited when I asked her. I told her it would be best to wait until you’re out of the hospital, since she was ready to follow me all the way here and start lessons today. She’s a big fan of Nanashi, too, so I promised her that she could meet your mom. I… I think that you’ll really like her.”

_You know sign language as well, then?_

“I do,” he confirmed after reading your note. “All of the family does. But since she’s also non-verbal I thought… well, she’d teach it better than I ever could.”

Nodding slowly, you tapped the pen against the notepad. There were so many things you wanted to ask that they were beginning to get jumbled up in your head. The painkiller was kicking in again, too, leaving you feeling sluggish, your thoughts slowing to a crawl. Jason seemed to pick up on the change, reaching out to take the pen and notepad from you, setting them back down on the table. Pouring you a glass of water, he watched you drink, expression pinched as you winced in pain with each swallow. Once you were done, he adjusted the bed so that you could lay back further, pulled up the blankets and took your right hand in his.

“You should sleep,” he whispered. “I’m sure they’ve got you pretty doped up. You need all the rest you can get, sweetheart. I’ll stay with you for as long as I can. Promise.”

Eyelids heavy, you shifted closer to him, lips parting in a soundless sigh when he bent forward to brush a kiss against your cheek. Although you wanted to stay up longer, wanted to ask him more questions, you were rapidly being dragged back towards a drug induced sleep. Just before your eyes fluttered closed, you gently squeezed his hand three times, a silent message.

_I love you._

And as you slipped back into the warm embrace of sleep, you felt three gentle squeezes back.

\---

_The mountain in your dreamscape had disappeared._

_You felt a slight prick of disappointment, ashamed that something so important had been able to slip through your fingers like sand. Picking your way through carnations and lilies, their petals all red as blood, you paused when you realized that the goshinboku had been replaced. Instead, a large fruit tree reached for the cloudy sky, leaves trembling in the breeze. Frowning, you slowed your approach. Something wasn’t right. When you stopped before the large tree, one of the branches bowed towards you, offering up the largest pomegranate you had ever seen. After a moment of hesitation, you took it, the fruit warm in your hands, pulsing like a heart._

_“An apple would have felt a bit on the nose,” a voice said._

_When you looked up, you found a man sitting in one of the high branches. His hair shone like spun gold, eyes a glinting copper as they met your own. The white robes he wore fell in a way that flattered his body, made him look like a work of art come to life. In every aspect, he was beautiful. And you found that beauty deeply unnerving, taking a small step back and away from the tree. Swinging down from the branch, he landed lightly in front of you, an edge to his smile when you took another step back._

_“Although, all things considered, perhaps a pomegranate is a bit on the nose, too. Quite a clever name you were given, little thing.” The man did not approach you, did not advance or grab you. Instead, he merely watched you, his voice soft and thick as deep, dark velvet. “I would have approached you in person, but, well. You’ve got some pretty formidable guard dogs sticking close to you.”_

_Cradling the pomegranate in one hand, you brushed the fingers of the other against your throat. Although they did not come away sticky with blood, you could feel thick scar tissue. It seemed to get the point across to the man, whose gaze softened by a fraction._

_“Ah, right. I apologize, I forgot about… that. What was taken from you. I suppose even the dreams of an oracle can have their limitations.” Gaze dropping to your throat, he let out a small sigh. “No matter. Come. Walk with me.”_

_When he held his hand out, you flinched away at first. You did not know who this person that had invaded your dreams was, did not know what he wanted from you. But your gut told you that he meant you no harm. At least, not here, in the realm of your mind. Gathering yourself, reminding yourself that you could not afford to hesitate any longer, you reached out and placed your hand in his. His skin was warm, his fingers curling around yours gently. With another sharp smile, he led you away from the tree, further out into the field of flowers. The spider lilies seemed to bend away from him, and when you glanced back, you found that fragile white roses had bloomed in the wake of his steps. The storm had vanished, clouds parting to make way for the sun, shining brightly down on you as you walked with the stranger._

_“Dreams are a very powerful thing, you know.” When you glanced up, the stranger was looking down at you, expression guarded. “Even in the hands of a mere, normal mortal. But in the hands of someone like you, they become a weapon. All you have to do is close your eyes and you can change the future itself. But you were never even aware of that, were you?”_

_You slowly shook your head, staring up at him in confusion. All that you could do was get a glimpse of the future, an idea of the problems that you or the people who came to you would face. You were an agent of fate, nothing more._

_“I suppose not.” He sighed again, helping you up a slight hill, his warm fingers still gently holding your own. “It was a failure of many, many people who should have known better that you were not raised to know who you were, where you came from. I’m not certain if all of the pain and despair that you’ve been through was not worth it, though, to send you down a more righteous path.”_

_Frowning up at him, you stopped walking, forcing him to stop as well. Eyes narrowed, you pulled your hand out of his, gripping the hem of your dress and wishing that there was some way you could communicate. But he seemed to read your frustration, letting out a deep, rumbling chuckle._

_“Your frustration with cryptic messages on all fronts is understandable. But I promise you that all will be made clear in due time, little oracle.” Tilting his head, he smiled. “Please, keep walking with me. I have things I’d like to show you.”_

_Hugging the pomegranate to your chest, you took a deep breath. Nodding, you took a step forward, walking side by side with him as he continued to lead you through sunny fields. There was not a cloud in the sky, but you could not bring yourself to feel discomfort at that fact. As ever-present as the storms had been, it was nice to have a break. To feel some other side of yourself, a sunnier part. A part that was not shot through with the darkness you’d allowed to take root. When you glanced back at the man, you blinked, staring up at him. In the brief moments you’d looked away, his clothes had changed. No longer was he a living statue of some Apollon figure. Instead, he wore a dark suit, his curly golden hair slicked back, his cuffs decorated with little golden pins that looked like stars._

_“When you had that first vision, spoke that first prophecy, you caused a bit of a fuss, my dear.” His smile was still sharp when he caught you staring, head tipping to the side. “There have been countless mortals who found a way to trick the god or demon who came to collect their soul, who found some loophole to have a second shot at life. Now, some of those collectors just shrug it off, or are actively glad that some poor soul got another chance. Death, herself, is a bit of a softy. But, unfortunately, it was Moloch that your Lazarus had the bad luck of being claimed by. Nasty git. Frankly, most of us were glad when he threw his little tantrum and locked himself up in that house. But unfortunately, words are unbreakable bonds for him and his kin. So when Jason Todd continued to live when he should have been dead, brought back by the Sleeping God, they were forced by those bonds to hunt him. Most who are unlucky enough to run that gauntlet don’t get very far. But he was quite special. Because he had you.”_

_You didn’t feel particularly comfortable with that statement. There were many things that made Jason special. But you? You weren’t one of them. Shaking your head, you fiddled with the hem of your dress again, wishing that you could speak your mind._

_“Is there a chance that he would’ve survived it all even without you?” The man shrugged, slipping his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he stopped at the base of a hill. “Possibly. Jason Peter Todd is a formidable threat in his own right. If he let the nasty thing that lives tightly locked in him out, he’d be even more of one. But discounting your own role in his survival is a dangerous thing. With each threat, he knew what was going to happen before it would happen, able to ensure that he survived until the next one. There was a cost for it, of course. For him, and for you. But that cost would have been steeper, had you not been there to guide him. Unfortunately, that also put you in danger. Never should have, but I’m afraid that some of the bastards spent so long in their own company that they forgot their manners. The Lazarus should have been the only one targeted. But you presented a larger threat. Surely, you were aware of this. But you welcomed it, and allowed the target to be placed on your back for your own sake. Why is that?”_

_It was simple, of course. You’d done it because you loved him. As a friend, at first, but gradually as more than that. Your own life had meant so little to you that you’d been happy to put in on the line for him. If your sacrifice meant that he got to live on, you’d been happy to offer yourself up. Such a simple answer, but with more complicated feelings and motivations just beneath the surface. It wasn’t only that you loved Jason. It was that you loved what he could be, what he had already become. There was so much potential, such an important heart, sitting at the core of who he was. But you couldn’t sum all of that up. Not without a pen and paper and a few hours. So, instead, you took the man’s wrist and traced the shape of four letters into his palm._

_L-O-V-E_

_“Of course.” He sighed, shaking his head. When you released him, he motioned towards the hill. “Go on. Climb. I’ll be right behind you.”_

_With no hesitation, you began to climb. It was not as steep as the dream mountain you had climbed, the slope of it gentle. In very little time you had reached the top of the hill, staring at the valley below you. As he’d said, the man was right behind you, stepping up next to you as you took it all in. It was not anything from your memory, not a single dream that you’d had before. You stared down at a desert landscape, the wreckage of a building, flames still raging. In the middle of it all were two figures. One large, cloaked in black, body bowed under the heavy weight of despair. One small, dressed in bright reds, yellows, and greens. You could not see their faces, could not hear any voices. But you knew, instinctively, what it was you were seeing._

_“Jason Todd was supposed to have a long life,” the man said, resting his hand on your shoulder. “He was an impulsive child, his empathy making him quick to anger and slow to think. His first life was spent searching for a mother’s love, for something he’d wanted desperately. And it led to his death.”_

_The image before you flickered and changed, turning to a chase across dark, rain slick rooftops. The same black-cloaked figure chased another, this one far more familiar. Although you could not hear his laugh, you knew that the man with red static for a face was surely taking great joy in the chase._

_“His second life was formed by a different kind of love from a different kind of woman, not quite a mother but a mentor. One who cared for him, but fed into the rage he felt from the betrayal of his death. He remained unavenged, but not forgotten.” His voice was softer now, the weight of his hand comforting. “Even now, in this second life, there’s been a part of him that still seeks love in any form that it will take. Fitting, I think, that it would be love that ultimately both damned him and saved him.”_

_Just as before, the image flickered and faded away, replaced with a field of swaying carnations. Red as blood, red as the mask that Jason wore. Red as the flames that had been present at his death. Taking a deep breath, you turned to the man again, giving him a questioning look._

_“You want to know why I’m telling you all of this and showing it to you, aren’t you?” He chuckled, patting your head. “Expressive little thing. But I’ll tell you. It’s best you understand what brought him to this point, who he was before his death and what ultimately brought it about. Especially if you wish to remain by his side. There is one last challenge that the Lazarus must face, although it will be far different than all the others. He’s faced down certain death many times, done what he could to prove that he deserves the second chance he was given in a great cosmic mistake. But that judgement has to be rendered by the ones who would have overseen his soul, once Moloch brought it to Hell.”_

_Of course. One last hurdle, one last challenge before he could live his life in peace and leave his death in the past. With shaking fingers, you pressed your free hand against your throat. You didn’t need to ask who the man was. You knew._

_He would be the last shadow. The twelfth and final being who either took Jason’s life or deemed him worthy of what he’d built for himself. But you could not find any fear in your heart at his presence, at the knowledge that he could be the one who took the man you loved away from you. Perhaps it was some spell he’d cast on you. But you did not think so. If he’d meant to harm you, it would have been easy. Both in your dreams and in reality, your body and mind were weak as you struggled to recover from the horrors you’d suffered through._

_With a flick of his wrist, the man took a step back and offered out a business card. Lowering your hand, you took it from him. Brushed your thumb over the sleek black surface, an address printed on it in shining gold print._

_“Bring the Lazarus here, during the witching hour two days from now. He will face his final challenge then, and we will need you present as a witness.” When you glanced up at him, he did not look pleased. There was no sharp edge to his smile, only a world-weariness you’d seen in your own mother’s eyes. “Hopefully, after this is all said and done, you will be afforded your well-deserved rest. I suggest that you prepare yourself, my dear. Not even the fates will know what is to come.”_

_Although you reached out to him, tried to grasp the edge of his sleeve, he slipped just out of reach. Glancing over your shoulder, he heaved a dramatic sigh._

_“I would love to chat with you more, but unfortunately, our time alone has run out.” Reaching out, he tapped the surface of the pomegranate, splitting it open, dark juices spilling over your hand and arm, staining your feet. “Take a bite, love. Return to the waking world and pass along the message.”_

_Uncertain, you frowned down at the split fruit. But you had nothing to lose. Tucking the card he had given you into the front of your dress, you lifted the fruit to your lips with both hands. The little seeds inside gushed, sweet and strange, as you sank in your teeth. The dream faded away from you, but the stranger’s eyes lingered for a moment, like two copper pieces set on the eyelids of the dead._

And then you woke, once more, from a strange dream. The sweet, syrupy taste of the pomegranate lingered at the back of your tongue as you sat up, trying to make sense of the dream. Your fingers itched, needing to feel the smooth, worn surface of your tarot cards. The sun had not yet risen, but the first blushing pinks of dawn bloomed in the sky when you glanced out the window. The room was empty, but you could vaguely hear conversation in the hall, the sliding door slightly open.

Although you couldn’t make out the words, you knew the voices. Nanashi, her voice pitched low, carrying a hard edge of anger to it, and Sumiko, whose voice was softer, trying to soothe her wife’s temper. Fingertips twitching, you ignored the sudden wave of dizziness you felt, ignored your sore limbs, ripped the IV from your hand with a sharp grimace, the needle longer and wider than you’d expected. An alarm began to wail, the door slamming open as you pushed yourself out of the bed, pen in hand. Sumiko rushed over to you first, hands on your shoulders.

“Baby, you need to get back in bed, you can’t just—”

Shrugging her off, you wrote one word on the palm of your hand in bold capital letters, holding it out so that both of your mothers could see it.

**_HOME_ **

Nanashi quirked an eyebrow, the anger in her expression fading away into amusement. Stepping closer to you, she turned over your hand, pulling off the scarf around her neck and pressing it over the ragged wound you’d caused ripping out the IV. Your nurse had stepped into the room as well, shooting an alarmed glance at Sumiko, whose expression was pinched with concern.

“You saw something, didn’t you, _himawari?_ ” Nanashi asked, voice low. Her hands cradled your own, her normally bright eyes a muted, darker shade. “That’s why you’re so desperate to leave.”

Nodding sharply, you pulled your hand from hers, still fidgeting, unable to be still. Not when you knew there was something else you had to find, something else you had to uncover. You looked around the room wildly, stumbling over to your backpack when you spotted it and ignoring the bruising impact as you fell to your knees in front of it. You dug through it, tossing clothes and books aside until you found the deck that Jason had given you back in New Orleans. The cards spilled out onto the ground, not as stiff as they had been before, already bent from your constant touch. As Sumiko and the nurse spoke to each other in hushed voices, you let your twitching fingers guide you to one card. Just one, but the last one of the journey that you’d taken with Jason. One last clue, one last thing to prepare you for what it was he had to face. You flipped it over, heart in your throat.

 _Judgement._ A card of rebirth and absolution, of second chances. Tracing the face of the angel on the card, you blinked back tears. You would not cry, not again. Even if it was out of relief, out of joy, knowing that although a challenge stood in his way, Jason would face some form of absolution. Nanashi had come to kneel next to you, tucking her dark hair behind her ear as she looked at the card you had drawn. Expression closed off, she collected the scattered cards, leaving only Judgement for you as she tucked them back into their box.

“Sumi.” Nanashi did not look over at her wife as she helped you to your feet, your legs shaky and weak as those of a newborn fawn. “Can we let the child go home now?”

“I still have tests that I want to run,” Sumiko said, arms crossed as she watched you. “We don’t know yet if there’s been any damage done to her internal organs that could lead to severe complications. And we… we know of at least one operation done on her by the Order. We should check to see if there are others that compromise her health.”

“Miss Kurogane also needs more time to let the wound on her throat heal. Even a liquid diet would be painful for her at this point,” the nurse added, crossing over to you but pausing at the sharp glare Nanashi gave him. “She needs to stay for just a few more days so that we can make sure she’s in stable condition.”

 _No._ You shook your head, fingers bunching in your hospital gown in frustration. You didn’t have a few days. The last challenge was in just two days, in the dead of night. The stranger in your dream had made it clear that you had to be there with Jason, and you weren’t going to abandon him at this point. What if your absence damned him? What if he refused to go without you and was punished for it? You couldn’t risk it. Not with his life on the line. Pushing away from Nanashi, you retrieved the notepad, flipping through it violently and writing down in a rush.

 _I_ _have to go now. I’ll come back for the tests when I can. But there are things that I have to do. Please._

Sumiko frowned down at the note. So did the nurse, the poor man so out of the loop that nothing any of you said would make any sense to him. You continued to fidget, anxious as she tapped a nail against the back of the note pad. Everyone in the room knew that, ultimately, it came down to Sumiko to make the call.

“Doctor?” the nurse said, glancing anxiously over to her.

Sighing, Sumiko handed the notepad back over to you. You stared at her, heart in your throat, hoping that she would understand how dire the situation was. Although you couldn’t speak, you hoped that your note and your expression got your desperation across. Paper crinkled under your nervous fingers, the only sound other than the still wailing alarm.

“I’ll start the discharge paperwork. The pharmacy will have some painkillers that I can give to you for the time being. They’re non-drowsy, but I can’t promise that they’ll be enough to keep the pain from triggering any visions.” Sumiko didn’t look particularly happy about the decision, but your shoulders still slumped with relief. “And you need to have someone with you at all times. Whether that’s Yarrow or myself or Nana or Jason, just in case there’s damage that we haven’t been able to catch yet. I’d rather not have you back in the emergency room or ICU again.”

Rushing forward, you hugged Sumiko, ignoring the pain that the gesture sent radiating through your ribs and shoulder. There was no hesitation on her part, her arms immediately coming up to hug you back. After a moment, basking in the embrace, you stepped back. Although she still did not look particularly happy with her decision, Sumiko managed to smile up at you, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Whatever it is that you need to do, baby, be safe. Please. We can’t lose you,” she whispered.

You nodded, looking away when Nana placed a cold hand on your arm.

“I brought some new clothes for you, sweet girl,” she told you, expression hard. “While Sumiko works on your paperwork, I’ll help you wash up and get dressed.”

The nurse and Sumiko left the room, speaking rapidly to one another, voices hushed once more, after turning off the machines that had been monitoring you while you slept. They were no doubt going over the specifics of what you would need, of what it meant for you to be leaving the hospital so much sooner than they had planned on. There was still a cold anger radiating from your mother as she guided you to sit on the bed, pulling the hospital gown off of you as gently as she could. Her expression only hardened when you were bare before her, bruises darkening a good portion of your skin, diodes still stuck to your chest. While you peeled them off, she crossed over to a shopping bag that had been placed in the corner of the room, digging out a few items of clothing and fresh underwear for you.

When she turned back, you picked up your notepad, jotting down a quick note.

_Where is Jason?_

“He left not long ago. Unfinished business, I believe. Favors that he had to pay back.” Nanashi took the notepad from you, setting it aside and helping you stand. “I replaced his vigil at your side just an hour or so ago. But I suspect that if you ask for him, he’ll come running.”

There was no doubt in your mind that he would. He’d come running the night before and, you thought, he would continue to do so. As selfless as you had been, he had been as well. Each of you had taken your turn falling on metaphorical (and literal) blades for one another. Letting Nanashi help you into the shower, you gave her a small nod of thanks as she stepped back out of the bathroom. A small bit of privacy, but one that was appreciated all the same. Stripping off your underwear, you turned on the shower, let the water run warm against your skin. Washing away the last remains of the compound, you scrubbed at your skin with the citrus-y soap until it was pink and raw, bruises stinging. The tiny bottle of shampoo was used up entirely as you washed your hair twice, nails digging into your scalp, washing it all away. Dirt and grime and dried blood disappeared down the drain as you simply stood under the water, closed your eyes and tried to tell yourself that you were clean now.

But there was still a stain left on you, one that would not wash away so easily.

Taking a shaking breath, you braced your hands against the wall and let yourself cry. Let all of the pain and anger and helplessness pour out of you, silent, nails scraping against the tile wall. The tears felt stinging hot against your skin, your body shaking with the force of your unheard sobs. There were so many things that should have brought you joy. You’d finally gained your freedom from the past that had hung heavy over your head, you had a family you hadn’t even known existed months ago, you had fallen in love with a person who loved you. And you’d grown comfortable in your own skin, learned to _want,_ to feel comfortable with desiring things outside of simply surviving. Four months before, you’d simply been a scared little girl, scraping by with the only skill you thought you could offer. Now, you were a person, changed in ways you still weren’t certain you completely comprehended, with dreams and a future ahead of you.

But gods, it had come at such a heavy cost. Physically, with the new scars you had collected on your wrist, your shoulder, your belly, and now your throat, your voice taken away in a way that could prove permanent; mentally, with the way you still shook at the idea of the tests Sumiko would run you through, haunting images of what had been done to you in the compound rising unbidden; and emotionally, with the way your heart ached knowing what you had put Nanashi and Jason through, their pain weighing heavily upon your shoulders, along with your own, so many past deaths still lingering in the corners of your mind, ready to strike and twist dreams into nightmares.

You forced yourself to breathe, going through the old routine. Deep breath in, hold, slow breath out. Thought of everything that made you happy, thought of running into Jason’s arms once more, thought of finally holding your familiar again, pressing your face into her warm, soft fur. Once you had calmed yourself, stopped the tears, you stood straight and gently rinsed your face. The wound on your cheek and nose was still raw, still hurt, and you could wave away your bloodshot, swollen eyes as simply being a side effect of your heavy exhaustion. Pushing away from the tile wall, you turned off the water, retrieved the fluffy towel that had been left for you. It took a while to pat your skin dry, movements slow and stiff. By the time you had pulled on your underwear, wrapped the towel around yourself and walked out into the room once more, Nanashi had already gathered up all of your things. She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, paperwork in her lap, and beckoned you to come closer.

Without a moment of hesitation, you did so, sitting down next to her and tucking the towel tighter around your body. She flipped through the papers to find one, holding it up for you. There were unfamiliar symbols on it, part of the alphabet you had seen Sumiko use on the envelope she’d put her letter to you inside. Underneath each combination was a name written in English script, followed by a meaning. You blinked, glancing back up at her.

“We’ve been able to put off giving you a full identity until now,” she told you. “But unfortunately, we need a proper name for the paperwork before Sumiko can let you go home. Stupid, mortal legal boundaries, but ones we must respect all the same. We drafted up a few first names for you to pick from. I’m afraid my family name was forced on you. But I want you to pick what your name will be. A proper name, one that you can use as a full identity, if you so choose.”

A name. A real name, given to you with the hopes of you being more than a ghost floating through life. More than a shadow to be quickly forgotten, fading as time passed you by. Taking a deep breath, you carefully took the paper from her, scanned over each of the names. But there was one that drew your eye. As you looked it over, traced the letters with your finger, you knew that it was the name you wanted. A name that fit who you wished to be in the future, leaving behind who you had been in the past.

_真愛._ _Mai. Combining the letters_ _真_ _(ma) meaning ‘real, genuine’ and_ _愛_ _(ai) meaning ‘love, affection’._

Tapping it with your finger, you glanced back up at your mother. This was the name that you would choose for yourself. Not a gift, or a nickname. But one that you had claimed. _Real love. Genuine affection._ Things you wanted so desperately, things you would hold onto for all you were worth.

“Mai,” Nanashi said, the name rolling off her tongue, sweet and soft. She smiled, giving a small nod as she turned to the rest of the paperwork, filling in your new name in the blanks that had been left. “It’s a formality, more than anything else. You can still go by that name that the Lazarus gave to you. But from now on, you exist as my daughter Mai Kurogane, real and tangible in every way.”

 _I exist. I exist. I exist._ You repeated it to yourself, over and over. Let it really sink in, even as the nurse came in, replaced the sodden bandages with fresh ones, applied ointment to your throat and shoulder. _I exist._ A mantra, as you half-listened to him list off what medications to take when, where to get fresh bandages to apply each day, how to apply the ointment you were being given. _I exist._ It was a song in your heart as Nanashi helped you step into the dress she’d bought for you, zipping up the back. _I exist._ A chorus in your soul, sung with ecstatic joy as you sat still, let Nanashi comb out your damp hair, the silver paler and more washed out than it had been the last time you’d seen it.

“ _Himawari,_ ” she said, your bags in her arms. You’d picked up the flowers you’d been given, still distracted. But you blinked, came back to yourself fully, petals of the daisies tickling your chin as you readjusted the fragile vases, made sure you wouldn’t drop them. “I have a car waiting for us. Come. Let’s take you home.”

Home. An apartment that you hadn’t seen in weeks, decorated by a woman you’d barely known, but who had been the closest thing to family you’d had before Nanashi found you. Both absent of memories and full of them, the one safe place that you’d had. Gathering yourself, you nodded. Although one of the hospital staff had offered you a wheelchair, you refused it. When you walked out, you needed it to be on your own, with what little strength remained. Nanashi stuck close to you, bags slung over her shoulder, cold hand resting gentle at your back. A silent pillar of support, one you could lean upon if you needed it. She helped you into the sleek black car that was waiting outside, let the driver put your bags into the trunk as she slid into the seat beside you. How she’d known your address, where you lived, you weren’t certain. Jason, you figured, must have told her. As the car began to pull away from the hospital, you stared out the window, the streets of Gotham feeling at once achingly familiar and terribly strange.

It hadn’t been long since you’d left, but with your own changes, it felt like the city was a stranger to you once more. A place full of despair and hope, so many dreamers hoping to find a new future, to better themselves. Wild and dark and beautiful in ways that were difficult to vocalize, to put into words that would make sense to someone other than you. So many people hated Gotham, and for reasons that you could understand. For all of its beauty, it was also ugly. So many people suffered in the streets, didn’t have the luck that you had been given. Even with the vigilantes who roamed the streets, no more than shadows and mythological figures to you and most everyone in the cities, so many people lost their lives, lost their hope, lost their faith. But it was the closest thing you’d ever had to a home, and you couldn’t remove that from your heart, no matter how hard you tried. Gotham had sheltered you in her dark arms, and you only hoped that you could repay her one day.

“Would you like to hear a story?” Nanashi asked suddenly, drawing your attention to her. She still looked pensive, eyes dark when they met your own.

You nodded and she tried to smile, although it looked more like a grimace. Her cold fingers reached out for your own, her thumb brushing over the branching scars on your palm.

“Once,” she whispered, bending closer to you, “there was a young woman with no name. She’d woken to herself a new being, a new creature, and sought meaning in her life. For many years, she was a hired sword, lurked in the shadows and killed both men and monsters. Money, she knew, was the one thing that would keep her alive, even in those old days. She was skilled with a sword and hard to kill, a monstrous thing herself. But there were many that could overlook that monstrosity, in the name of their own fortune. This was the time of the warring states, when many lords held different lands and were not afraid to do what it took to keep the power that they already had. This young woman had travelled to a northern island in her homeland, adopted a moniker given to her by the men she had fought with. A lord sought her, for there was a monster in his lands. Not a youkai, one that could be tamed or destroyed by his priests. Not a human monster, one that his samurai could slay. But a true monster, one that took the form of a dragon and lay waste to his lands. Many brave men had been sent to slay it, to rid this lord of a plague upon him. But all of them had fallen, and he grew desperate. The young woman was desperate as well, wanted a real challenge. All of her enemies had fallen far too easily, her strength leagues greater than their own. She had grown bored, and this beast seemed a truly worthy opponent. Not only that, but the lord was offering a hefty sum of money and a patch of land that at that time only men could own. With great pride in her heart and a desire to prove herself, the young woman accepted this bounty and swore to the lord that she would slay the dragon and bring him its head.”

Nanashi fell silent for a moment, pausing her story as the car took a sharp turn. Only once traffic had slowed did she continue, holding your hand just a little bit tighter.

“And so the young woman travelled this lord’s lands, observing the destruction. She had expected to see crops burned, charred skeletons and decaying bodies. But instead she saw only an empty, untouched expanse. The crops still grew, the fields were still bountiful. But there were no farmers to tend to them. When she passed through a village, there were no people. Emptiness met her, and it was more terrifying than any destruction she could have seen. Because men and monsters usually came with fire and blood, with razed land and corpses. But not this dragon. This dragon left no trace, and the young woman knew in that terrible moment that she was facing something unlike anything known to the world before.” Taking a deep breath, she glanced at you, gauged your reaction. When she found you enraptured, immersed in the tale, she continued. “But the young woman had made a promise, and in those days, she felt that her word was her bond. And she had much to prove, did not want to return and have men leagues weaker than her scoff and declare her weak. So she carried on, rested only to drink and to eat, feasting on a lone fox that had not been clever enough to run. Night fell, the shadows embracing her as if they were lovers, and she found the den of the dragon. Drawing her sword, she called to it, asking it to come and face her, to know the face of the woman who would slay it. But the dragon only laughed, a dark sound that would cause most men to go mad, a chorus of damned voices echoing from within the cave it had made for itself deep within a mountain. For it had faced many would-be dragon slayers before, and found the young woman wanting. It emerged from the cave, less a dragon and more something beyond the bounds of the human imagination attempting the form of a dragon. It was as large as the mountain itself, covered in unblinking eyes and pseudopods, little limbs that swayed in the night wind and a dozen wings that spread up towards the sky. But the young woman was not afraid. Because there was some part of herself that knew the dragon was like her. Like calling to like.”

You blinked, watching her with wide eyes as she took another deep breath.

“The dragon-beast had given itself the name Mappo no Ryujin. It identified itself, in a language that the young woman should not have known, but could feel resonating deep within her soul. And so she answered, giving the dragon-beast the moniker that she had been given. But it only laughed once more, shaking the earth in its dark mirth. ‘That is not your name,’ the beast said. ‘You have lost yourself. But that is fine. A cousin you are no more, and I will put you out of your misery.’ With that, the dragon beast struck, its talons nearly rending the young woman in two. But she was fast, and she was good, and she knew so. With this strike, she let loose, drawing the twin blades she wore and slipping into the shadows, striking so fast that the beast could barely track her. The valley was soaked with its blood, its screams shaking the heavens themselves. But the young woman grew too bold, did not strike the killing blow when she should have. Instead, she thought to gloat, to put this beast in its place before she sent it to the pits. ‘I have no name, because I am above them,’ the young woman said, holding a blade aloft. ‘And you will go to Hell without the name of your killer, tormented as a beast of your ilk should be.’ But because she did not strike, because she was too proud, the young woman paid a price. As she was distracted, the dragon struck, a wing slicing off the arm of the young woman. She had not felt such pain before, as in all other battles, her wounds had simply closed. It did not this time, and as she used her remaining limb to slice off the dragon’s head, she realized that the arm was lost for all time. Quickly binding it with the sleeve of her kimono, the young woman paused for only one moment. Because in the moment of the beast’s death, she could have sworn she felt a part of herself dying, as well. But she did not have a moment to spare. And so she did not question her actions. With the head of the dragon tucked under her remaining arm, she sheathed both of her swords and made the long trek back to the lord. When she did deliver the head, promising the blight to the land was over, she was only given a fraction of the money. For the lord had expected her to perish in her quest as well, and could not give land to a lowly woman, even a warrior such as her. Although she found a way to create a replacement for the arm she had lost, there was a hole inside of her at the loss of this beast that she could not explain. It had called her cousin, yet she had laughed at it, had not tried to question it for what she may have once been, and fell instead to the comfort of violence and destruction that she lost herself so easily in.”

Nanashi fell silent as the car pulled up across the street from the building your apartment was in. Although it was clear that her story had ended, you were only left with more questions. Why had she told you this? What was the moral of it? What were you supposed to learn from the tale of this young woman, who was so clearly her? As she got out of the car to retrieve your bags, you were left with the sinking suspicion that even if you did have a voice to ask, there were no answers to your questions. You would simply have to meditate on the story, try to find the meaning of her telling it to you on your own. Giving the driver a small nod of thanks, you gathered the vases of flowers in your arms once more, following Nanashi as she walked briskly up the stairs to your apartment. Producing a key (which you swore you had not given her), she unlocked it, letting you step inside first. When you paused, only a few steps into the small living room, she let out a soft, humorless chuckle.

“Welcome home, _himawari.”_

The same needlepoint decorated the walls, the same blankets and scarves covered the windows, the same bookshelves lined the walls, filled with old paperbacks and vinyl records. But the ratty old furniture had been replaced, a new plush sofa sitting where the old one with its sagging, lumpy cushions had been. The little table with its folding chairs that you’d given so many fortunes at was gone, replaced instead with a potted plant. The armchair had been replaced, too, with one that was larger and far more comfortable looking. The rugs had all disappeared, leaving you with bare wooden floors. As Nanashi stepped past you to deposit your bags on your new kitchen table, you realized with a sinking feeling that much of what you’d owned had been destroyed. It had to have been Azrael, when he was searching your apartment for you, flipping over the few things you’d been left by the old fortune teller and leaving nothing but destruction in his wake. Dashing further inside, you skidded to a stop in the bedroom, glancing over the new, wider bed and set of drawers before settling on the closet. With shaking hands, you opened it, pushed aside your clothes to pull out the little metal lockbox you kept all your money in. When you opened it, you found it almost empty.

Gone was all the money you’d earned. Barely enough was left over to cover the next month’s rent, all of your hard work, both for Jason and your other clients, coming up short. It had to have been your landlord who took the money, sneaking around in your things with the broken door he’d fixed as an excuse. Payment for the damages, no doubt. But it didn’t lessen the blow, didn’t make you feel any better about your situation. As nice as it was that your mother had cleaned up so that you didn’t have to see what had been done to the only safe place you’d ever known, she couldn’t bring back that sense of safety. Not anymore. Tucking it back away, you tried to fight back the panic that was swelling in your chest. Without your voice, how were you going to tell fortunes? How many of your clients would even come back to you, after you had been gone for so long? The cards and your prophetic little itch were the only things that had kept you alive, and without your voice, you weren’t certain what you were supposed to do.

When you stepped back into the living room, Nanashi was waiting for you, your phone in her hand. Her gaze was sympathetic, which only made you feel worse.

“Get in touch with your Lazarus, sweet thing.” Pressing your phone into your hands, she let her fingers linger for a moment, cold and comforting. “Sumiko and I have a room in our home for you, if you ever need it. I know… I know that things will be difficult for a while, that what I’ve brought in cannot replace what was destroyed. But you’re not alone.”

You rushed forward, wrapping your arms around her in a hug, ignoring the startled noise she made. Although she was difficult, and mean, she was still your mother. She’d managed to make your home _feel_ like a home again in the short time you’d been hospitalized, simply because she could. She may not have been as warm and affectionate as Sumiko, but she loved you, in her own way. You knew it, down to your bones. After a long moment, she sighed, returning your embrace. It was stiff, but better than nothing. When you pulled away, her lips twitched up into a half-smile. Before she turned away, you pulled up the notes app on your phone, typing up a short message and handing it over to her.

_Thank you, mom. I’ll keep in touch with you. Please tell Sumiko thank you for everything. I promise I’ll be okay._

She blinked, openly surprised for a moment before her cold eyes turned warm and she handed your phone back over to you.

“You can tell Sumiko yourself; while you were asleep I added her contact to your phone. Make sure to keep in touch with her, too. She worries, and if you go too long without talking to her, she’ll show up at your door herself.” With a small chuckle, she reached out and brushed your bangs out of your eyes, fingers lingering on your temple for a second before she pulled away. “I’ve kept you long enough, _himawari._ Be safe. Be careful. And don’t be afraid to reach out to us.”

With one last stiff nod, she left, the door shutting softly behind her. Sinking down onto the couch, you looked around the apartment. For nearly two years, it had been your safe space, your home, a place of comfort and respite. You had baked for the first time in the kitchen, met many different people from many different walks of life in the little living room, listened to jazz for the first time and spent rainy days curled up in bed with a sappy romance novel simply because you could in the bedroom. You’d placed your heart in every inch of it, taken some pride in the few things you’d bought yourself as well as what had been left to you when the old fortune teller had passed. But it felt different now. Not only because you could vividly imagine what it had looked like after Azrael tore through it, before Nanashi had taken care to make each new piece of furniture feel like it had always belonged, but because you felt different. You weren’t the same person you’d been when you left, and you couldn’t help but look at the peeling paint on the walls and the colorful patterns of the blankets draped over the windows with new eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you sent off a text to Jason letting him know you were home and to bring his sister with him. His response was immediate, a simple timeframe of when he would arrive. Setting your phone down, you reached into the pocket of your cardigan, pulling out Judgement.

Things would be fine. They had to be.

\---

Cassandra Cain sat cross-legged in the middle of your living room floor, dark eyes watching you closely as you haltingly repeated the signs that she’d taught you. For hours, she’d patiently walked you through basic phrases and finger spelling, the two of you haltingly communicating through your notepad when her body language and facial expressions weren’t enough. The silence was unnerving, considering how much was said with it, her eyes missing nothing. As she’d told you with her messy handwriting, a simple gesture could communicate more than a thousand words. Yarrow was settled in your lap, purring loudly as she napped. When Jason had arrived with her and Cassandra, your familiar had launched herself at you immediately, chirping loudly and crying _Oracle, Oracle_ through your bond. She’d patiently settled down once you’d asked her to, content to either nap or play with the toys Jason had bought for her while you learned an entire new language.

Picking up her mug of tea, Cassandra gave a small nod and a smile. Sign language had a very different grammatical structure than other languages you’d learned, but you were beginning to pick up on it, hesitantly stringing together words into whole phrases. _Good,_ she signed to you. _New word._

Setting her mug back down, she extended her thumb and forefinger on both hands, bringing her left hand up under her chin, then lowering it and tapping it on top of her right hand. Mirroring the motion, you repeated it until she gave a sharp nod of approval. She jotted down a single word on the notepad, pushing it towards you.

_Sister._

_Brother?_ you wrote, curious.

With a smile, she showed you, fingers extended similarly, but with her left hand brought up to her head before it came down to tap against the top of her right hand. After repeating it a few times, you clumsily signed a question to her.

 _How many brothers?_ you signed, then pointed to her.

 _Many,_ she signed back with an amused smile.

Jason came out from the kitchen, handing over a mug of tea and bending to brush a kiss against your temple. You smiled up at him, signing a quick _thank you_ and feeling a rush of pride at the smile you got in return.

“You’re learning fast,” he said, the sound of his voice soothing after a long stretch of silence. “It’s only been, what, a few hours?”

Cassandra nodded, standing up. Her dark eyes flicked between you and her brother, a knowing smile curling the corners of her lips. She signed something to him, a bit too fast for you to keep up.

“You sure?” he asked, frowning.

She nodded sharply again, stepping forward and setting your tea aside so that she could take your hands. Thumb brushing over the scars on your right palm, she met your curious gaze with a warm look. Her hands were calloused, rough as they held your own. After a long moment, she pulled back, signing a word that you had to take a moment to remember.

 _Tomorrow,_ she’d signed, head tilted to the side, a question.

 _Tomorrow,_ you signed back, giving a small nod of agreement.

Satisfied, she gave Yarrow a small pat to the head and kissed Jason on the cheek when he bent his head for her. With a small wave, she collected her things and left. You found yourself already missing her presence, her sharp eyes, the way she seemed to know what you wanted to say and teaching you how to say it. Sighing, Jason sank down onto the couch next to you, long legs spread out in front of him and head rolling back so that he was staring up at the ceiling.

“She said that she wanted to let us have some time together,” he mumbled. “I’m not going to complain, but you two seemed to be getting along.”

Getting up long enough to retrieve your notepad, you flipped to a fresh page, sitting down and writing down what you wanted to say before holding it up over his head in his line of sight. He chuckled, glancing over at you as you settled so your legs were draped over his lap.

 _I like her a lot. I think I’ll learn a lot from her, too. But it’s nice to be alone with you,_ you’d written.

“Impatient to have me all to yourself?” he asked, voice dropping as he turned his head to look at you.

Flushing, you shook your head, toes curling as he settled one hand on your ankle, rubbing gentle circles into the skin. While it was important for you to learn from his sister, to find a way to communicate outside of hastily written notes and text on your phone, it was also important to tell him about your dream. You’d put it off, uncertain of how much he’d told her and not wanting to bring it up until you were alone. Squirming a bit, you pulled out the card that had been tucked back into the pocket of your cardigan, handing it over to him. The moment he took it, his expression turned from playful to serious, his grip on your ankle tightening ever so slightly.

“You saw something?” he asked.

You nodded, jotting down another note for him.

_Someone came into my dreams last night. He told me that you had to go to face your final challenge in less than two days, during the witching hour. That I had to come as a witness._

You wrote down the address for him as well, watched him read over it a few times, his brow furrowed. Handing the notepad back to you, he sighed.

“No rest for the wicked, I guess. I know that address, though. New bar that hasn’t opened up yet.” When he ran his hand over his jaw, you suppressed the urge to reach out, to tangle your fingers with his and kiss away the stress lines on his face. “Do you really have to come? I… I don’t want you to get hurt again, sweetheart.”

 _I’ll be fine,_ you wrote. _But I don’t know what’s going to happen. The man in my dream said the fates won’t know, and I haven’t had the itch after drawing Judgement. I’m more worried about you._

“I can handle myself,” Jason said. “But… you’re really not getting anything else? Just that one card?”

You nodded. It was unsettling, after spending so long constantly fidgeting and itching, the future begging to burst out from under your skin, to feel nothing. No impending sense of doom, no lingering gut feelings. Just the present, the moment you were living in. Perhaps that was what you needed to prepare yourself for. Not knowing was more frightening than knowing, a vast unknown stretching out in front of you instead of the clear path you were used to. Tapping the pen against the notepad, you watched him for a long moment before gathering the courage to write down your next question.

_What are we going to do?_

“I don’t know.” His voice was soft, uncertain. His thumb tapped against your ankle as he stared down at your question, expression troubled. “I… really don’t know, Delphi. I wish I did. But I don’t know what we’re going to be walking into. Did he give you any clues? Any idea of what this challenge was gonna be?”

Closing, your eyes, you thought back on the conversation. Immediately, it came to you. Stupid, that you hadn’t mentioned it yet. Perhaps it was just the lingering haze from the painkillers, the weakness of your body spreading up to your mind. Moving Yarrow out of your lap and setting her on the end of the couch, you scooted closer to Jason, nearly sitting in his lap.

_He said something about rendering judgement. That it’ll be from the ones who would have overseen your soul once Moloch had it. I think it’s going to be a trial. And there will be more than just the one man that I saw._

“So, if you’re there, does that make you like the jury, while they’re the judges?” he asked, shifting to sling an arm around you, his head bent towards yours so that he could read your notes while you wrote them.

 _No, like he said, I think I’ll just be a witness. I don’t think there’s anything I can really do for you during the trial itself. And I have no idea what it will look like,_ you wrote.

“Which means there’s a chance that it could go bad. Could be a trial by fire, or combat, too.” Jason sighed, resting his head against yours.

_It won’t go badly. I know it. The Judgement card is one of absolution. Everything will be fine. I may not be able to see it, but I know._

You didn’t know. There was a chance that it could go terribly, that you would have to stand by and watch helplessly as Jason was taken away from you. But he needed to go into this last challenge with a clear mind and a strong heart. Admitting that you were afraid would do nothing to help and only hold him back. Now, more than ever, you had to be strong. You had to be brave. And you had to believe that his absolution was held in that single card you had drawn, an angel heralding his freedom from the chains that had once bound him.

“You’re right.” Jason smiled, although there was a sad edge to it, his eyes still dark. You desperately wanted to see them bright once more, to see the spark that had drawn you to him. “But there’s still things I need to do, just in case. Even if we don’t know exactly what we’re walking in to, I can still do my best to prepare for whatever these guys are gonna throw at us.”

Nodding, you settled back against him. At some point, he would have to leave you again. Go to prepare for this final battle, to speak to his siblings and make some amends, just in case. _Just in case._ You didn’t want to think of those possibilities. Didn’t want to imagine a world without him. Jason combed his fingers through your loose hair, let Yarrow settle down on the couch beside his head, her forked tail draped over his shoulder. You watched his expression, the way it softened as strands of your hair slipped through his fingertips, like fine strands of silver thread.

“Your hair looks just like starlight,” he murmured, grinning when he saw your eyes light up in recognition. “It’s beautiful.”

 _You think so?_ you wrote back, knowing the answering lines by heart. _So do I._

In that moment, with a bit of brightness flickering in his Lazarus-green eyes, you thought that you would do anything to keep that light there. You smiled back up at him, let your eyes flutter shut as he twisted strands of your hair around his finger, tapped a gentle rhythm against the fine bones of your ankle. In such a fragile state, you had to be happy with the gentle affection, had to shove aside the quiet disappointment you felt knowing that he would have to handle you with care. Although you enjoyed the moment alone, you had to fight to keep your thoughts from running wildly in a different direction. His lips brushed over your temple, your cheek, the tip of your nose, featherlight kisses that had you opening your eyes once more.

You wanted to tell him to stay, to be a bit selfish. You wanted to stay curled up against him, wanted to kiss him until you were both breathless, until you forgot where you ended and he began. You wanted to wrap yourself around him, memorize the sound of his heartbeat, feel the rumble in his chest when he laughed and etch it into your bones. But you had to let him go, at least temporarily. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel unprepared, to be on unstable footing when he faced the stranger from your dreams, whose identity you still needed to figure out.

“Are you going to be okay by yourself for a while?” he asked, fingers skimming up to your calf.

You nodded, motioning to Yarrow. If your familiar wasn’t enough company, if you got scared and paranoid, you knew that if you texted Sumiko, she would come running to you.

“I’ll be back tonight. I…” He cleared his throat, thumb brushing over a scar just below your knee. “I’ll feel better if I stay the night with you. If that’s okay. If it isn’t, that’s fine, too, I can—”

Cutting him off with a short kiss, you leaned back, giving him the universal hand sign for ‘ok’. Even if he wasn’t back before you went to sleep, if he had to work through the night, you would be fine. Lonely, the bed cold without him, but fine. You had your own preparations to make, too, research to do into the location you were going to and the entities you would be facing. Jason slumped in relief, his forehead bumping gently against yours. You tapped his chest to get his attention again, starting to pick up the note pad but stopping. Haltingly, you signed for him to stay to finish his tea. At least some of it must have been correct, because his smile grew and he nodded, shifting your legs out of his lap long enough to retrieve the two cooling mugs of tea he’d brought out.

Pressed against his side, you sipped at the lemon mint tea he’d made, trying to convince yourself that you would get more quiet, peaceful moments like this one in the future.

\---

Books scattered around the living room floor, you flipped through the pages of an old demonology text, frustrated at the lack of progress you’d made in the hours of work you’d done. The sun had already set, Jason had returned and fallen asleep on the couch, Schnitzel curled up in the arm chair next to him and Yarrow dozing on his chest, and you’d come no closer to finding out the identity of the man in your dream than at the start of your search. You’d taken a short break when Sumiko had stopped by to bring you containers of broth and hearty tomato soup, your liquid diet unsatisfying, but the only option you had until your throat healed more and swallowing didn’t cause you so much pain. Under her watchful eye, you’d taken your scheduled doses of painkillers and antibiotics, finished off the thermos of green tea she’d brought with her. After confirming that you were fine, that the pain was manageable, and yes, you would take breaks to drink water, she’d left, although she and Nanashi had both texted you multiple times to check in on you.

It was nice, knowing that your new-found family cared about you, but also incredibly overwhelming.

Running a hand over your face, careful not to agitate the bandages there, you heaved a long, frustrated sigh. There was no itch at your fingertips to indicate that you were heading in the right direction, to guide you to the answer. You’d relied far too heavily on it, felt the absence of your little gut feelings like a gaping wound. Leaning back against the couch, you picked up a book on angels, instead. If there was nothing in the books on demons and dark gods, then perhaps… You vaguely recalled the stranger’s comment about an apple and felt your tired, weary brain connect the dots that it should have hours previously. The fruit tree, his appearance, the golden star cufflinks. It was all so obvious, and you had been so stupid.

 _Lucifer._ It had to be. The ruler of hell himself, the fallen son, the Morningstar. He’d made it so painfully clear the entire time. You turned to a section on the archangels, past and present, those who had remained in heaven and those who had fallen and become the Watchers. Your ancestors, still wandering the earth or preparing to begin a new cycle, a new life carrying out the plans laid out by their Father.

 _Stupid,_ you snarled at yourself, head slumping forward and forehead bumping against the pages of the book. _Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. You can’t keep slipping like this._

It couldn’t bode well that the devil himself would be the one passing judgement on Jason. Although all of the lessons you’d had covering Lucifer had made him out to be cruel, the root of all of humanity’s evil, he had still seemed… civil, in your dream. Gentle, even. All of it could have been an act, of course. The devil was a trickster to his core, a being not to be trusted. If you were going to make sure that Jason survived this last ordeal, came out of the trial a free man as the cards seemed to suggest, then you needed to be at your best. No more stupid mistakes, no more missing warning signs. As clever and shrewd as Jason was, he could use any help he could get. Even without your voice, you could learn enough sign language to communicate tricks to him, let him know when the devil was trying to pull one over on him.

And it also begged the question of who would be judging Jason alongside Lucifer. Beelzebub, perhaps? Mammon? They had aided him according to Paradise Lost, been by his side. With both Belial and Moloch dealt with, there was no one else you could think of who could be present. _That judgement has to be rendered by the ones who would have overseen his soul, once Moloch brought it to Hell._ That’s what he’d said, so surely only those associated with Hell would be present. You slumped back once more, head resting on the couch cushions, idle fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against the book. For all of the research that you’d done on demonology in the compound, you were coming up short. Most of the devil’s court had already been dealt with, killed and sent back to Hell. Perhaps you simply had to accept the possibility that the other entities present would be an unknown.

Jason groaned in his sleep, body shifting, the deep sound shattering your concentration. One of his arms flopped over the side of the couch, fingertips grazing your shoulder. Turning, you shifted to sit on your sore knees, folding your arms on the couch and resting your chin on them. You took a moment to simply… watch him. It wasn’t often that you got to see Jason with his guard completely lowered, utterly and fully vulnerable. The hand that wasn’t hanging over the side of the couch rested on Yarrow, the little familiar purring in her sleep. His hair was wild, a curly mess on the arm rest, white streak obscuring his eyes. Face relaxed, he looked… at peace. You’d been afraid that the groan had been a sign of a nightmare, but he’d settled back into a deep sleep, sharp features relaxed and soft. The last time you’d watched him sleep, it had been drug induced, features pinched in pain, his fingers twitching in response to nightmares. Now, when you reached out, brushing his hair back from his eyes, he let out a soft sigh, eyelids fluttering as he dreamed. You smiled, sitting up far enough to brush a barely-there kiss to a scar that bisected his eyebrow.

Mumbling something unintelligible, he shifted again, fingers sinking further into Yarrow’s fur. Eventually, you’d need to wake him, get him to move to the bed. As it was, his legs hung off the end of the couch, the cramped position of his long body undoubtedly uncomfortable. But you figured you would give him a few moments longer, let him continue whatever sweet dream it was that he was having. Pushing yourself to your feet with a wince, you worked out the kinks in your legs and back as you shuffled towards your bedroom and slipped out of your cardigan. Although you needed to do a bit more reading before you called it a night, you wanted to go ahead and change into a nightgown, be ready to slip into bed once you were finished. Struggling a bit with the zipper at the back of your dress, you finally managed to pull it down, but paused when you felt something. A cold breeze, making you shiver and whip your head towards the window. The curtains rippled, the window behind them clearly open. You couldn’t remember opening it, fear settling heavy and cold in your stomach. Quickly pulling your cardigan back on, you shoved the curtain aside, the window pulled up all the way.

_Someone had tried to get inside._

For a moment, you considered ducking back into the living room, shaking Jason awake, having him check. But he needed his rest, and while you were still weak, still exhausted, you were now a threat in your own right. Heart in your throat, you climbed out onto the fire escape, shivering in the cold night air. You scanned the roof opposite your building, glanced down at the alley below you. Nothing. No one. You were just being paranoid. With the medication you were on, maybe you’d simply forgotten that you’d opened the window for some fresh air. And after everything you’d been through, _of course_ you would see the smallest inconsistency as someone spying on you, someone watching from the shadows. Running a hand through your hair, you slumped, sighing. It was good that it was nothing.

You turned to crawl back through the window and collided face first with something solid. Panic coursing through your limbs, you stumbled back, glancing your hip off the railing of the fire escape as you stared up at the enormous man blocking your way back into the apartment. Not just any man. _The Batman_ stood in front of you, face inscrutable. Logically, you’d done nothing to place yourself on the list of his enemies. But you were still terrified as he stared you down, your eyes wide and heart racing. Why was he here? What did he want from you?

“Mai Kurogane.” His voice was a low, warning rumble, an echo of the thunder that built in your heart. How did he know that name? How did he already know who you were, now that you existed? His eyes, covered by his cowl and rendered an eerie white, narrowed when you pressed further away from him. “I… didn’t mean to frighten you.”

How were you supposed to _not_ be frightened when a man dressed in all black, face hidden, ambushed you on your fire escape? You opened your mouth, but paused, fear lodging once more in your throat when you remembered. No voice. No way to demand to know what he wanted with you.

 _What,_ you signed, fingers shaking, thankful that even that one, small thing had stuck with you.

His lips thinned into a tight line and you regretted questioning him. Part of you expected him to advance on you, to growl and intimidate you like you’d heard stories of. Maybe he’d dangle you off the side of the fire escape. You were kicking yourself for not waking Jason, feeling small and helpless in the presence of the enormous man before you. Much to your surprise, he knelt, shifted his long cape so that his hands were visible, held at his sides. Lowering himself, making himself look like less of a threat. You blinked, uncertain of what to make of it.

“I just… wanted to meet you,” he said, voice low, quiet enough that only you could hear.

Why would he—Oh. _Oh._ It hit you all at once. The figure in all black you’d seen in the visions Lucifer had shown you, the one holding Jason’s body, the one chasing the Red Hood across Gotham’s rooftops. It had been the Batman. He was the father who had failed to save Jason. He was the father that was barely mentioned, the mere thought of him seeming to leave a bitter taste in Jason’s mouth. Jason had returned to Gotham, had reached out to his siblings, and someone had told him about you. And now that absent father, the Batman himself, kneeled in front of you. Nervously, you shook your head, hesitating for a moment before you reached out and gave his cape a gentle tug. You didn’t want him to kneel, the gesture feeling far more uncomfortable than when he’d towered over you. After a moment of hesitation on his part, he stood, although he kept back, gave you what space he could on the tiny fire escape. At your nervous glance towards the window, he repositioned himself. Gave you an escape route, if you needed it. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you looked back up at him, tugging at the hem of your dress before signing _why._

Why was he here? Why did he want to meet you?

The vigilante seemed to think it over as well, tucking his hands back inside his cape, head tilted ever so slightly to the side as he watched you. Maybe it had just been curiosity on his part. A father reaching out in the only way he could to meet the partner of his distant son. Now that you’d gotten over your initial fear, you realized that Batman meant you no harm. If anything, _he_ seemed nervous and uncomfortable under your steady gaze. Feeling a sudden boost of confidence, you took a small step closer to him.

 _Afraid?_ you signed. The best you could do, together with a vague gesture towards the window.

He immediately picked up on what you were trying to ask, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly. Glancing towards the open window, his eyes narrowed further.

“I still worry about him,” he told you, gaze flicking back to you. Always on edge, body tensed even in the presence of an injured girl he was twice the size of. “But our relationship is… strained.”

That was putting it lightly, you figured, considering he’d snuck up on you while Jason was asleep, instead of meeting you like a normal person. His face twitched, concern clear for a brief moment before he’d schooled his expression back into neutral disinterest. Even without his eyes visible, he was expressive, a man constantly trying to hide what he felt. Just like Jason. He sighed, eyes closing.

“When he disappeared from Gotham, we all thought that he’d died. He wouldn’t respond to texts or calls, no one could find a sign of him. He’d just… vanished. It was a… relief when he reappeared and reached out to some of us.” Opening his eyes once more, he regarded you with a guarded expression. “I… heard what happened to you.”

How were you supposed to respond to that? Burst into tears? Struggle to detail your life long struggle with abuse through broken sign language? Thank him? You shrugged, the movement pulling at your injured shoulder and making you wince.

“Jason is a proud person,” he said, taking a hesitant step towards you. “He’s bad at asking for help, would rather struggle alone than risk putting the people he cares about in danger. Because of that, we all had to go a year without a word from him. Putting aside that pride, reaching out to his siblings…” He sighed again, lips twitching into a half-smile. “It’s clear you mean a lot to him. I… thank you.”

It was also clear that Jason meant a lot to this man, as well. Letting your own lips curl up into sad smile, you gave another shrug. You couldn’t take credit for his actions. Perhaps your near-death experience had given him the push he needed to finally take a risk. But it was Jason’s choice and his choice only that had led to him reaching back out to his estranged family. You knew that he loved you, just as he knew that you loved him. But he was his own person, first and foremost. Although you hadn’t known what Jason was like before you met him, in the months that you had spent with him, he’d grown. Changed, in subtle ways that you weren’t sure even he had noticed. It was that change that had pushed him, that was all. You started to raise your hands, to attempt another question, but froze.

“Delphi…?”

Jason called out to you from inside the apartment, voice rough with sleep, the first edges of concern bleeding into your name. You turned towards the window, afraid of how he would react when he saw you talking to his estranged father. But when you turned back towards where Batman had been, he was gone. Vanished, slipping back into the shadows. Shaken by just how quickly and silently he’d moved, you looked up, tried to see if there was any sign of him on the roof. But all you saw was a smaller shadow, a flash of green and red as they dashed out of sight.

“Delphi, what are you doing out here?” Jason had poked his head out the window, bleary and exhausted, rubbing at his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

Still staring up at the roof, at the dark sky that stretched out endlessly, you slowly shook your head. Taking a deep breath, you let him help you back inside, his hand lingering at the small of your back as you closed the window and locked it tight. While you had nothing to fear from the shadows, knew that nothing would harm you so long as Jason was with you, you didn’t want another unannounced visitor. Your poor heart could only take so many surprises before it would give out. Turning back to Jason, you looked up at him, at his sleep mussed hair and half-lidded eyes, the way his teeth flashed when he yawned.

Jason Todd. The son of Batman, the Red Hood. So many identities, secrets that he kept close to his heart. To protect you, you suspected, and to protect himself. There was still a lot of pain there, pain that you didn’t want to make him lay out for you until he was ready. So you kept his father’s visit a secret, reaching up to brush a thumb over the faded scar on his neck, smile soft and warm. When he blinked down at you, you gestured to the bed. As much as the two of you needed to prepare for the fast approaching with hour, you also needed rest. Jason retrieved his overnight bag, retreated to the bathroom to change into his sleep clothes. You changed into a nightgown and settled into bed, let him turn off the light and call out to Schnitzel and Yarrow. He slipped under the blankets next to you, curled an arm around your waist, pulled you close. His dog and your familiar had both eagerly jumped up to join you, both curled up by your feet.

Abandoning yourself to the domestic bliss of the moment, you closed your eyes and rested a hand on Jason’s arm, smiling as he nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered into your skin, one leg hooking around yours, his voice thick with sleep.

As an answer, you took his hand in yours and gave it three soft squeezes. You could feel his lips curl into a smile, your eyes slipping closed as sleep dragged both of you into its bottomless depths.

\---

The bar you stood in front of looked abandoned. Still not ready to open, lights off and furniture a messy jumble. Jason glared up at the sign, reading LUX in bold, fancy script. Even in the middle of the night, you could see the gilded paint at the edges of the sign, everything about it screaming wealth and prosperity. You’d never been to the Gotham Heights area before, and although you were wearing one of the new (horrendously expensive) outfits Nanashi had bought you, tugging at the sleeves of your cardigan and the short hem of your skirt, you still felt cheap and out of place. Jason looked even more out of place in his faded jeans and beaten up old leather jacket, hood pulled up, the gun he’d tucked in the back of his waist band hidden but ever present in your mind. Even at 3 am, the witching hour, there were people out and about, a few drunken socialites openly staring at you as they passed. Stepping closer to Jason, you held onto the sleeve of his jacket and tried to read his expression.

Most of the day, you’d had to spend apart from one another. He’d had family business to take care of, loose ends to tie up. _Just in case._ Weapons to tend to, peace to make with himself. _Just in case._ You’d spent most of the day with Sumiko, letting her run tests on you, and met briefly with Cass for lessons. _Just in case._ Taken your medicine, applied ointment to the wounds on your shoulder, your throat, carefully bandaged them and dressed in your new clothes. _Just in case._

Just in case. A damning thing, with different definitions that led to the same conclusion. Just in case Jason died. Just in case he was taken away from you. Just in case this was the last time you would see one another. Just in case you had to carry that terrible weight on your shoulders, lose one last thing.

You tugged at his sleeve gently, his attention turning to you, eyes dark and expression schooled into careful neutrality. But you were not fooled. You could see past it, see the tic in his jaw, the way his fingers immediately sought your own.

 _Afraid?_ you signed, taking his hand as you tilted your head to the side.

“Yeah.” He sighed, giving you a humorless smile. “Yeah, actually. I know you said that Judgement is supposed to be a good card, and that we’ve done what we can before walking into an unknown situation, but I just… I’m not ready to go. Not yet.”

Bringing his hand up, you brushed a gentle kiss over his scarred knuckles, laced your fingers tighter with his. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many words that couldn’t be spoken. Words of comfort, of love. You simply had to hope that it got across to him, that the small gestures of affection would bring him some comfort. You were there with him, and would remain by his side until the bitter end, if it came to it. Head bent towards yours, you heard him take a deep breath, steel himself. Then, brave mask slipped firmly back in place, he released your hand and walked towards the building. You stayed a step behind him, ducked into the shadows with him as he picked the lock to the entrance. Within the span of a few breaths, he’d successfully pushed the door open, slipping inside. With one last glance at the street, you took a deep breath and followed him in.

The heels of your boots clicked softly against the floor with each step you took, the polished hardwood floors gleaming in the meager light from the streetlamps outside and a few strips of cold green lighting that hung above the bar. Although you were still in Gotham, in an unfinished luxury bar, something about it felt surreal. Wrong. Otherworldly. Jason was several steps ahead of you, pulling aside a large tarp to reveal a grand piano, positioned in the middle of the floor. You stepped up next to him, running your fingertips lightly over the keys. With no bottles of liquor behind the bar and only a few tables and chairs, it felt as if the piano was the center of the building’s universe, drawing you both towards it. Jason stiffened, hand snapping to the small of his back, lifting the back of his jacket to curl his fingers around his gun. You felt it, too. Not just one powerful presence, but two. Fingers still resting on the keys of the piano, you looked up, freezing at the sudden appearance of two men at the bar.

One was the man from your dreams, golden hair slicked back, wearing a dark suit and holding a glass of dark liquor. His copper eyes met your own, his smile just as sharp as it had been in your dreams, the casual way he leaned back against the bar doing nothing to make you feel any safer in his presence. The man next to him you did not recognize. His skin was pale as marble, long hair white as snow and falling in gentle curls to his shoulders. The robes he wore were made of dark silk, his eyes a bright silver and not unkind as they surveyed you.

“Just in time!” The stranger from your dreams said, setting down his glass on the bar and taking a step towards you, hands in his pockets. “I must say, being punctual is a virtue that will not be overlooked on my part.”

Jason drew his gun, the sharp click of the safety being switched off deafening in the large, echoing space. But the stranger did not even blink, didn’t even glance at him as he stopped just in front of you, gently taking your hand from where it rested on the piano and brushing a barely-there kiss against your knuckles.

“Wonderful to see you outside of the realm of dreams, darling,” he said, velvet smooth voice doing very little to ease the creeping sense of dread that you felt. “Thank you for passing along my message so dutifully. Made things much easier for all parties involved.”

Dropping your hand, he turned to Jason, one golden brow arching as he gestured to the gun currently aimed at his chest.

“Quite rude, Mr. Todd. I assure you, I mean no harm to you or your partner. There will be no ambush, no sneak attack. Just a bit of a chat, is all.” Something flashed in his eyes. Just for a moment, but long enough for you and Jason both to catch it. “So, how about you put the gun away and we can all introduce ourselves?”

Jason’s eyes flicked over to you, a silent question. _What should I do?_ There was a subtle glow to his eyes, his finger still curled around the trigger. While the situation certain didn’t feel safe in any way, you also couldn’t feel any tell tale tug in your gut telling you that the man was lying. After a moment of hesitation, you gave him a sharp nod. _It’s okay._ Although he didn’t look particularly happy about it, Jason flicked the safety back on and tucked the gun away at the back of his waistband once more.

“Wonderful. Glad that at least your partner is here to be the sensible one.” Grinning at the way Jason bristled, the man stepped back once more, his companion coming to stand beside him. “Now that we’re all calmed down, let me introduce myself. My name is Lucifer Morningstar, former king of Hell and current entrepreneur relocating to this lovely, terrible city of yours. My brother here is Duma, the Angel of Silence, current ruler of Hell. It’s rare for him to have any time off the throne, but he recognized that this is quite the special occasion.”

So, you had been right. It was Lucifer himself who had come to your dreams and given you those visions, given you a message for Jason. But you had not heard of his brother, at least not in the lessons you’d been given in the compound and in the brief research you’d done into angelology. There was no doubt that he was an archangel, the power radiating off of him too great to be from a lesser power. But you’d expected a demon, one of Lucifer’s minions. Not an angel.

“Wait.” Jason held up a hand, expression pinched. “You’re not just fucking with me, are you? Like… you’re _literally_ the devil. And you’re just… hanging out in Gotham.”

“I was in Los Angeles up until recently, but there’s been some… _interesting_ activity in Gotham that caught my attention and my interest. Even in my retirement, I grow bored.” Lucifer chuckled, hands still in his pockets. “And yes, Mr. Todd. I know it may be a bit for you to handle, seeing as you are a lapsed Catholic, but I am the devil himself. In the flesh. Although I must admit I’m concerned if I’m the first entity to give you pause, considering the demons and gods that you’ve faced so far in your journey.”

Jason remained silent, jaw clenched and hands curled into tight fists. His concern, you suspected, was less about the devil being real and facing him down, and more about the fact that the devil now lived in _his city._ And, no matter how the judgement went, would continue to live there for the foreseeable future. It frightened you, too, if you were being honest with yourself. Although Lucifer had not yet done anything to be outright hostile or put either of you in danger, you’d read the stories about him. You’d read stories of the realm that he had ruled, that his brother now ruled. Such a place could change even the kindest of hearts.

“Now.” Lucifer clapped his hands, rubbing them together as he looked between you and Jason. “Let’s get started, shall we? I’m afraid we only have Duma for the hour before he must return to Hell, and there’s quite a lot to review. Two whole lifetimes for us to sort through. My dear,” he said, gesturing to you, “if you would be so kind as to take Duma’s hand. You will be our witness. Unfortunate as it is, your forced state of silence makes you quite perfect for the role.”

You glanced over at Jason, who had schooled his face into an unreadable, blank expression. But he caught your gaze, gave a small nod. Still feeling uneasy, not wanting to leave his side, you stared at the Angel of Silence’s outstretched hand. He picked up on your fear, your hesitation, and gave you a small, sweet smile. There was a fondness to his expression that you’d caught fleetingly on Lucifer’s face as well, although you weren’t sure if it was simply an act to lower your defenses or if there was, in some small part of their celestial hearts, a bit of fondness they felt towards you for reasons you couldn’t quite grasp. Sighing, you rested your hand in Duma’s, his warm, soft fingers curling around your own as he gently guided you towards the bar. Sitting on one of the leather upholstered stools, you smoothed out your skirt, fidgeting in place as Duma sat down next to you.

“Bit of lovely symmetry we have going on with both sides, don’t you think?” Lucifer said, gesturing towards one of the few chairs near the piano that was not covered with plastic. “Two lovely, quiet little angels and the sons who fell out of favor with their fathers, blamed for all transgressions, even the ones they themselves didn’t commit. Have a seat, Mr. Todd. We have quite a bit of work to do.”

“How is this gonna work?” Jason asked, sitting down heavily in the chair, slumping back and spreading out his legs. “You gonna lay out all of my sins and then decide whether I get sent straight to Hell?”

“Not quite. I think it’s important for all present, including the witness, to see what you’ve done. After all, we need someone who will see the same things we do and understand why we make the judgement that we make.” Lucifer did let out a light chuckle, pulling over another chair and sitting in front of Jason, crossing his legs primly. “You’ve been through a gauntlet that has tested not only your physical fortitude, but your innate desire to survive. At some point, most give up, too battered and beaten to continue. Granted, most are also the ones overcoming the challenges themselves, instead of letting a prophet and their mother take on some of their enemies for them.”

Orias. Paimon. Dagon. Three demons that you had slain, with Moloch being one that you had taken down for Jason to deliver the final blow to. You hadn’t questioned it at the time, had been hellbent on your own survival and protecting him, but perhaps stepping in and delivering killing blows for him hadn’t been the right thing to do. Orias had given you no choice, had come for you in your dreams. Paimon had pushed you to the very edge, triggered a change in you that had nearly killed and consumed you. And Dagon had been a necessity, a monster who had stood between you and the one thing that had saved Jason from losing a limb. Jason’s mask of disinterest slipped for a second, eyes flashing and muscles tensing.

“Not saying that it’s a bad thing,” Lucifer continued, waving a hand. “Spicing things up is appreciated, after all. But now that you’ve reached the end of your journey, it’s the duty of the one who rules the realm you would have ended up in to make a judgement. Unfortunately for you, nasty old Moloch was the one who claimed your soul, the soul of a child claimed in fire and war, which made it all so very complicated. Death herself is quite soft, and likely would have shrugged off your resurrection and went on with her duties. But unfortunately, Moloch was _quite_ upset, and there were many beings bound by their word and their duty to try to reclaim a stolen soul. Most judgements would be made by one party, but you’re in quite the strange position once more. When you died, I had not yet abdicated the throne, although I was working on it. Now that you’ve passed through the gauntlet, my brother is the one who sits on the throne. We both share an equal stake in your soul and your fate, so you, Lazarus, get dual judgement. As a child of both Heaven and Hell, the direct descendent of Samael himself, your prophet also makes for the perfect witness.”

Leaning forward, Lucifer’s eyes flashed again as he offered his hand out to Jason.

“A tangled web of fate that we have only an hour to unravel and pick apart. So, let’s get it over with so we can go about our lives, yeah? Take my hand, Lazarus.” His smile was cruel, wicked, inhuman. “Let your Judgement commence.”

You felt a warm touch to your own hand, turning to find Duma gently taking it in his own once more. But his touch felt feverish, and there was no kindness in his eyes. Only a hard, alien wisdom that sent a chill down your spine. There was a spark between your palm and his own, one that felt so similar to the prophetic rush. But instead of warmth, it felt more like being pulled into cold, dark waters, your eyes rolling back, control wrenched from you as you left your body. Distantly, you could hear a sharp intake of breath from Jason. And then you were plunged into darkness, Duma’s warm grip the only thing keeping you distantly anchored to reality.

_Floating in the void, you tried to make your eyes adjust to the darkness. Duma floated next to you, his human form shed, a cold light emanating from him and downy white wings sprouting from his back. His eyes were no longer cold silver, but filled with a light that was hard to look at, his touch sending pulses of strange energy through you. Lucifer appeared before you as well, still in his dark suit, but with white wings of his own, dwarfing his large body and shining like the sun itself. Jason clutched the devil’s hand, eyes glowing sickly green as he glanced around the space._

_“Let’s have a run down of your first life, shall we?” Lucifer said, voice echoing, surrounding you in the void. “Just a quick summary, as what we’re really interested in is your second life. Let’s see…”_

_You blinked and the void had been replaced by a run-down apartment, paint peeling off the walls, the furniture third hand at best, beaten and patched up. A woman stood in the tiny kitchen, her skin washed out and sickly pale, dark rings under her eyes. But the smile she gave the child, no older than six or seven, who stood in a rickety chair next to her, was warm. You realized, with a start, that the little boy doing his best to roll out thin sheets of dough was Jason. His cheeks were round and ruddy, eyes a deep brown, his dark, curly hair an unruly mess. The woman, his stepmother, ran shaking, spindly fingers through his hair._

_“An absent father, jailed when you were old enough to remember the abuse and hate he hurled at your stepmother, killed when you were young enough to still miss the absence of a parental figure. And your stepmother… a woman who fell to a vice that she did not have the strength or support to give up, but who still loved you, in her own way. You learned to take care of others at a young age, when she was sick and drug addled. Self sufficient before your age was even in the double digits. When they found her body, you’d been sitting with her for hours. Pushed onto the streets, fending for yourself.”_

_The scene flickered and changed, like a stone being dropped in a pond. Jason, no more than ten, so small, stood and glared up at the Batman, who towered over him. He had a tire iron in his hand, raised it like a weapon against the vigilante. A fire in his eyes that you recognized, defiant and unrelenting._

_“Another father, this one present physically, but absent in ways that you craved but could not vocalize. You loved him, and he loved you, but it wasn’t enough. You were so angry, so full of fire in ways that his previous child had not been. You had an older brother, too, one who wanted to do his best, but could not be around your father. You took on a mantle, secondhand, and did what you could to protect those who had been unprotected for so long. The well of your empathy ran deep, but you responded to the pain of others with anger. At a tender young age, you first crossed that line that your father refused to, in order to punish a man who deserved it. But you learned that your stepmother was your stepmother, not your real mother as you’d once believed. You sought your birth mother, wanted that same warmth that you’d felt in your childhood. Because your father did his best, but it wasn’t enough. And you did find your mother. Flew so close to the sun, to getting what you wanted, that it was inevitable your wings would melt away and you would fall. And just like Icarus, your father was not there to catch you when your mother betrayed you to his enemy.”_

_The scene flickered again, replaced not by another warm scene, but with one of brutality. Jason, only fifteen, still so small, dressed in his reds and yellows and greens, bound. Beaten, over and over, by a cackling man, his face cast in shadow. The crowbar came down over and over and over, blood splattered on the floor of the building he’d been taken to. Jason, little Jason, left beaten and bloody but not yet defeated. Slipping out of his bindings, the red numbers on a bomb counting down. Focusing not on saving himself, but on saving his mother. The very woman who had betrayed him. Limping, bloodied, barely conscious, desperately trying to get to the door. But it was too late. The explosion was blinding, your eyes closing. You tried to flinch away, didn’t want to see the aftermath. But Duma squeezed your hand and your eyes opened once more. A barren stretch of desert, the burning wreckage of a building lighting up the night. Batman, lifting the limp, dead body of his son._

_“Ten years ago, on this very day, April 27 th, Jason Peter Todd died. Killed by the Joker, his mother dying shortly after him. Surely you knew that we chose this day to render your judgement, Lazarus, for a reason.”_

_That was why he had been so tense, so quiet on the way to the bar. Why his expression had been so closed off to you. You’d led him to the devil on the anniversary of his death._

_“Moloch had claimed your soul, prepared to drag it down with him. But then a Sleeping God, of the pantheon the prophet’s own mother comes from, turned in his sleep and the world changed. Slightly, subtly. But enough to right the wrong of a child’s death, and your soul slipped from Moloch’s fingers. You were mourned, and buried. And you woke in your coffin. Covered in burns, in bruises, a bleed in your brain. But you clawed your way out of your grave.”_

_Another ripple, a stormy night, a graveyard. A gravestone that bore Jason’s name, the dates of his birth and death. A small, bloody hand bursting from the earth, little Jason screaming, covered in mud, the fine suit he’d been buried in ruined. Not dead but not fully alive, wandering away from the graveyard, towards the city. A miracle, shivering and dirty in the rain, alone._

_“But this is where what we are interested in lies. Because what did you do with this second chance, Lazarus? For a whole year you were catatonic, absent from your mind and body. Forgotten. Abandoned. And then she found you. Talia al-Ghul, the daughter of the Demon. She took you in, tested you, wanted to return you to your father. But her own father refused it, ordered for you to be disposed of when the only thing you would respond to was violence. But Talia, she did not give up on you. She went against the wishes of her father and threw you into a Lazarus Pit.”_

_Jason, surfacing from eerie green depths, screaming. His eyes glowing, flashing, a woman pulling him from the waters and sending him away. Away from danger, away from the Demon who towered above her, rained his fury down upon her. Jason, his eyes now the flickering eerie green you knew, a young man, sitting in a tiny, barren room. Looking over the evidence that he was unavenged. Forgotten. **Replaced.** Cold fury in his eyes, methodically putting together a plan to kill the man who’d taken him in and off the streets. The father who had been too late to save him. Who he had not seen mourn him. Still young, still growing, but full of rage. Dressed in all black, approaching the car he’d once stolen tires off of, methodical and cold. Calculating. _

_“You almost killed your father. Lost in the cold grips of the Pit. But you turned back. Not because you thought better of it. But because you wanted to face him, wanted him to face all of his failures before you brought him down. You returned to Talia, a mother and a mentor in her own right. And she re-forged you. Sent you to learn from monsters, who you killed off one by one. It wasn’t murder, in your mind, to rid the world of scum that only made it worse. The one thing that snapped you out of that Lazarus-induced cold detachment was seeing a truck full of children waiting to be sold. But you were still different. The coldness was simply replaced by an unending rage.”_

_A series of ripples. Fury in Jason’s eyes as he grew, as he learned. As you watched him kill the monsters who had taught him. Poison in the drink of a human trafficker. Selling out a mercenary band, sending them to their deaths. Killing a pedophile surveillance expert, a small arms dealer selling poison instead of drugs, a close combat master who planned to kill her spouse and children. Nearly blowing up the London Bridge, taking out Russian mobsters. Learning to kill. Setting a new moral code for himself, one that wasn’t afraid to plunge into the very darkness he sought to purge from the world. Tracking down the monster who killed him, nearly succeeding and then… backing away._

_“You learned what you could and forged yourself into a weapon your father never could have made. Unafraid to cross the line, unafraid to kill. You returned to Gotham. You faced him in the guise of a ghost and found that you could not find the regret in him that you so desperately wanted to see. The son lost his father, and your path was clear. You became a crime lord of your own right. Murdered and tortured and maimed. They all deserved it, you thought. You faced your father a second time, with your own face, gave him an ultimatum. Either he killed the monster that killed you, or he killed you himself. Placed a gun in his hand and waited. But…”_

_A ripple. An apartment in shambles, evidence of a brutal fight. Jason, a man, lips curled into a snarl, his eyes full of hate. The monster laughing riotously. The Batman, refusing to do what Jason wanted. A batarang, slicing through Jason’s neck, disarming him. The place exploding. A nightmare, repeated. Jason crawling from the rubble, bloody, heartbroken. Furious._

_“And you wanted to take from him. Wanted to teach a lesson to the one that had replaced you.”_

_A building you did not recognize. A terrible, detached fury in Jason’s eyes, his knuckles bloodied. A teenager laying broken and bleeding below him. A message left in blood. A boy who was supposed to be his brother, who he’d attacked, nearly murdered in cold blood._

_You remembered the story Nanashi had told you. Saw an echo of it. A young woman who had killed a cousin that might have offered her a clue to her own past, lost in the delirium of rage and bloodshed. A young man who nearly killed a boy who could have been his brother, lost in rage and heartbreak. When you glanced over at your Jason, he could not meet your eyes. Looked away from you, shame in the set of his broad shoulders, jaw tightly clenched. These were the things he’d tried to keep from you. The blood that was on his hands, the sins he felt he could not purge._

_“Then your older brother reached out. Set aside the rage and betrayal the others had felt, although you’d hurt him, come for him just as you’d come for the others. He saw the rage in you and knew it, felt it echo inside of himself. It was slow, and painful, but you were brought back to the family. Never fully trusted by some. But allowed to meet your little brother once more, the blood son of the Bat who had been but a child when his mother took you in. You tried to reform yourself. Redeem yourself. Find a place in the family that you’d once tried to destroy. But, once more, you failed.”_

_Jason, your Jason, with his red static face, positioned in a warehouse. Looking through the scope of a rifle. Hesitating, the truth of his existence, of the shadows that always seemed to follow him, making him weak in a moment he should have been strong. A silver knife in the gut of a girl, her blood on the ground, the brother who he’d once beaten bloody screaming in his ear. His fault. The pain brought to Gotham by a demon seeking him. Turning away from his family, his friends. Stalking the streets of Gotham alone, a dog by his side. Refusing to let any of them be hurt again because of him. Wanting to solve the problem on his own, but growing desperate. Hearing rumors of a girl who could set him on the right path, the little red string tied around his finger tugging at him._

_“You knew what you would be dragging the poor girl into. But you did it anyways. Told yourself that she would be fine, that you would protect her. Dragged her all across the country, put her into all kinds of dangerous situations. Gave in and fell for her. Let her fall for you. Watched her place herself in the path of danger, face down monsters, all to protect you. Her own family had to hunt her down because you had taken her with you. Now, she stands here, changed. Because of you.”_

_A rapid series of images. Jason carefully cutting into your skin when you’d asked him to. Belial’s head exploding, the knife severing his neck. Samael and Lilith falling at his hand, the aftermath of your ordeal with Orias, Caim’s vacant dead stare and your blood in the fountain, a knife in Moloch’s heart and the charred remains of his guts splattered on the floor of the house burning around him. Paimon’s heart in your hand as the shadows pulsed around you, eyes glowing red and oil slick wings slumping over your form. Aamon’s headless body that reminded Jason so much of the Wolves, his arm a bloody ruin. Dagon’s head in your grip and your small body in the arms of the Swamp Thing. Ba’al and Nanashi ripping into one another, the fallen god’s brains splattered against the wall as you were stolen. Baphomet sneering, the razor dragging across your throat, Sumiko feasting on the demon’s body while you bled out. A river of blood that stretched out into a path, leading him to this very moment._

_“So much death and destruction, so much pain. But, of course, no one in this plane of existence, mortal or otherwise, exists in a state of black or white. There are no moral absolutes, no true good or evil. Simply shades of gray. Judgement cannot be fair and right if the good is not also shown. Duma?”_

_The Angel of Silence stretched out his other hand, his fingers giving your own a gentle, comforting squeeze. More flashing images. But not of death or pain. You saw the children who had snapped Jason out of his Lazarus madness being bundled in blankets, shown kindness instead of cruelty. The victims of the pedophile, knowing peace. The husband and children living their lives, instead of being buried in shallow graves. People going about their daily business on the London Bridge because he had thrown the bomb away, away from the innocent lives it could have destroyed. Children who could have been targeted by the gangs he’d taken over living as best they could, struggling but not hooked on the same drugs that had taken his stepmother. Children with fading bruises in a safe place, taken care of by people who would not raise their hands against them. Women given warm food and clothes, sleeping safely in a shelter, their small children safe with them. The Batman in a cave, staring up at the uniform that Jason had once worn, mourning, remembering and learning from his mistakes. An older man, running his fingers over the spine of an old book with a wistful smile. Nightwing, flashing a charming smile and slinging an arm over Jason’s shoulders, laugh ringing in the air. The brother he’d beaten, watching with bated breath as Jason tended to a wound on the face of the girl you’d seen stabbed. A woman with golden eyes and sharp teeth, smiling as she listened to Jason, a glass of wine in her hand and his head in her lap. A small boy with sharp eyes and dark hair, solemnly watching Jason as he sparred with Cassandra. Your mothers; Nanashi sitting at your bedside, fingers idly stroking your hair; Sumiko, singing to herself as she decorated a room in her house for you, her smile warm and excited. You, sitting in the passenger seat of his truck, bare feet on the dash and a book in your lap, lips curling up in a soft smile as you and Jason sang along to a song on the radio._

_“A scale to balance the shades of grey,” Lucifer said, the images fading once more into a dark, endless void. “We, as the past and present rulers of Hell, must take both into account when we decide what our Judgement will be. The witness has seen what we see, has heard what we have heard, and knows your actions. This is giving me a bit of a headache, so—”_

You blinked, back in reality, slumped over against the bar, your hand still held by Duma. His warm fingers slipped away from your own as you sat up, absorbing what you had seen. Jason’s eyes fluttered open as well, expression closed off as Lucifer leaned back in his chair, releasing his hand. The devil smiled, although it did not have the same cruel edge.

“As Duma is the Angel of Silence, I will have to speak for him. But my brother and I know each other well enough that I will not misrepresent him or his decision. Isn’t that right?” he asked.

Duma nodded, standing from his chair and motioning for you to do the same. Still hesitant, still shaken, you did so slowly, staying close to the bar as Lucifer stood from his chair. Jason remained seated, glaring up at the angels.

“We are both, admittedly, a bit biased, I’m afraid. Samael was one of my favorite brothers, close enough to me that many frequently mistook me for him, and him for me.” Lucifer chuckled, a chill going down your spine. “He and Lilith should begin their new cycle soon. But it’s… comforting, to see a physical reminder of him. To know that he has a legacy, outside of Father’s punishment and the disaster of the Watchers.”

Lucifer’s gaze turned to you. Not cold, not calculating. Warm, as Duma’s had been. You blinked, realizing that it was _you_ he was talking about. The grandchild of one of his favorite brothers.

“I’m sure most have pointed out how much you look like your mother, my dear,” he said, “but to us? You look so very much like your grandfather. You have his eyes… or, well. Eye, I suppose.”

“I thought this was supposed to be my judgement, not hers,” Jason snapped, leaning forward, expression dark. “You said there wasn’t time to waste. So just get it over with.”

“Ah, eager now, are we?” Lucifer chuckled again, turning back to Jason. Duma stepped up to stand next to him, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. They shared a short look before Lucifer cleared his throat. “Very well, then. Jason Peter Todd, on this day, April the 27th, the tenth anniversary of your death, we render our Judgement. We have seen your soul, seen your actions and have found…”

He paused, lifting a hand in a sweeping dramatic gesture.

“You have proven yourself deserving of this second life. Although you have made mistakes and hurt innocents, you have already received punishment for these sins. And you’ve tried to fashion yourself into a hero for the downtrodden, one who punishes those who deserve it. As one who used to be _quite good_ at punishment myself, I appreciate your new path in life. As does Duma, along with the kindness you’ve shown those who needed it most. Not to mention, you’ve protected a child of our beloved brother and brought her back home to a family who will love her as she deserves.” Lucifer grinned. “Like I said, bit biased. But you’re freed of the bonds that tied you to hell, Jason Todd. From now on, you will be the only one who decides the path you take in this second life. Try to use this second chance wisely.”

Jason was silent for a long moment, staring up at Lucifer and Duma. It hadn’t seemed to sink in, yet. But you immediately rushed towards him, throwing yourself at him nearly knocking both him and the chair over. Wrapping his arms around you, he managed to rebalance himself and the chair, still staring up at the archangels.

“I… what?” he said, slowly sitting up.

“I said you’re free. Your judgement and your trials are over now. You’re free to live your life now.” Lucifer arched an eyebrow, smirking. “Unless you’d like for us to change our minds.”

“No,” Jason said, shaking his head. “No, no, I just…”

“You thought we would lean the other way.” The devil sighed, giving a small shrug. “You mortals are far too hard on yourselves. Of all the souls my brother and I have seen, you do not rank as anywhere near the worst. Troubled, yes. But who isn’t?”

Still looking shellshocked, Jason looked down at you, blinking.

“This is real, right?” he asked.

You nodded.

“I’m not having some pre-death dream before reality crashes in on me?”

You shook your head.

“It’s… it’s really all over?”

You nodded.

“Such as it is,” Lucifer chimed in, “yes.”

Eyes widening, Jason slowly grinned, arms tightening around you. You were still draped awkwardly across his lap, hands coming up to cradle his face. With a loud, delighted laugh that startled you, he bent forward to kiss you, once, twice, three times. Your body shook with a silent laugh as well, heart swelling. It was over. It was all over, finally, after so many months for you and years for him. Lucifer cleared his throat just as Jason was leaning in to kiss you again, shifting uncomfortably. You turned to look back at him, Jason’s hands stilling from where they’d begun to stray low on your hips and an annoyed grunt escaping him.

“Much as I _hate_ to interrupt, I do have one last order of business.” Lucifer looked vaguely uncomfortable, gaze straying up towards the ceiling. “With the prophet.”

Cheeks flushed when you realized the position you were in, you scrambled off of Jason, smoothing down your skirt. His fingers lingered on your hip until you stepped away from him, brow creased in disappointment. Duma, to his credit, only looked amused. When you stepped closer, the Angel of Silence reached out, brushing back a lock of your hair and letting his fingers linger on the bandages around your throat. His eyes were warm, kind, sad. You tried to smile at him, this strange being who was family to you. Resting his hand on your shoulder, he nodded towards Lucifer, who waited patiently. When he had your attention, he cleared his throat again.

“First, I want to thank you once more for passing along the message and acting as a witness. Should any one question our actions here tonight, we may turn to you to confirm our reasoning.” Lucifer’s voice was low, his head dipping towards your own as he spoke. “But that brings us to a bit of a problem. Your mother, your birth mother specifically, has a bit of a, uh… reputation, shall we say. Pair that with the fact that you are, arguably, the most powerful seer of your generation, rivaling even Madame Xanadu, and there are interested parties involved. Although your Lazarus has been freed from his chains, I’m afraid that there may be challenges facing you in the future. There are many in the magical community of the world, especially ones who frequent Gotham, that would seek the powers you received from your mother and your father.”

Your heart dropped. Of course. Of course it couldn’t be so easy. The painful way, it seemed, was something you could not truly escape. Fingers curling in the long sleeves of your cardigan, your gaze strayed to the ground. What trouble would you bring, now, to the peace that Jason had finally attained after such a long struggle?

“Ah, don’t look so down, darling.” Lucifer reached out, tipped your chin up so that you were looking at him, and smiled. “It’s a problem… but one that I am offering to help with. As I mentioned, Samael was one of my favorite brothers, and he’d have a right fit if he shuffled back into his next life cycle and found that his granddaughter hadn’t been protected. I’d rather avoid his wrath, and keep family close. As you can see, I’m still working on opening this new iteration of my piano bar here. I need a bit of help. And I suspect that with your voice gone, you need new job prospects.”

Pulling away, Lucifer produced a business card from the inner pocket of his suit. Jet black with golden writing, like the one in the dream had been. But there was a phone number on this, along with a ritual symbol and a phrase in Latin. You blinked, taking it from him.

“Working with the devil himself is a bit of a daunting task, I know.” He grinned when you looked back up at him, warm and fond. “But I’ll look after you, help keep an eye on you along with your mothers and your little Lazarus. So long as I’m around, my dear, nothing will harm you. Job or not, I give you my word that you’ll be safe in Gotham.”

You frowned. What if he was lying? None of the words he’d spoken so far had been mistruths, but… well, he _was_ the devil. The root of all evil, or so you’d been taught. But the kindness he was showing you seemed genuine, and he had absolved Jason of his past sins, given him a free pass to live his life as he wanted. After a moment of hesitation, you gave him a small nod, watching his face light up.

“Wonderful!” He clapped his hands together, turning to Duma, who looked quite pleased himself. “Well, brother, now you can return to Hell knowing that the sweet little thing will be well taken care of.” Reaching out, he pulled you into a hug, startling you. “You just leave everything to your Uncle Luci, darling.”

Releasing you, he grinned at the flush in your cheeks, the surprise you felt visible in your expression.

“Whenever you’re ready, all you have to do is text me at that number. Or conduct a summoning ritual as outlined further down on the card, but I’d advise going with the first. I’ve destroyed a few curtains on accident during summonings before, I’m afraid.” Turning to his brother, he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Lovely seeing you again, Duma. Do feel free to visit whenever.”

The Angel of Silence reached out, ruffling your hair gently and smiling. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone, a few feathers floating down the only sign that he had even been there at all. Still clutching the business card, you found that Lucifer had disappeared as well. Silence stretched as you stared at the spot the two angels had been standing in, not sure how to feel about everything that had transpired. Jason had gotten up from the chair, moved to stand next to you. His expression was pinched as he looked down at the card in your hands.

“What the hell was that about?” he asked.

You looked up at him, uncertain yourself. But you managed to dig your phone out of the pocket in your cardigan, pulling up the notes app.

_I think Lucifer offered me a job. And adopted me._

Jason blinked down at the message you’d typed. After a long moment, he laughed, running a hand through his hair.

“Fuck me,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Never a dull moment, huh?”

You shook your head, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. It was weird, and surreal, and you honestly weren’t sure how to feel about anything that had just happened. But you couldn’t shake the bone deep feeling that the worst was over, for you and for him. You had people at your side, now; powerful beings who would stand up for you and protect you. Locking your phone and slipping it back into your pocket, you reached out and took Jason’s hand, his fingers easily wrapping around your own as you stepped closer to him. Already anticipating what you wanted, he cupped the back of your neck with his free hand and bent down, lips pressing soft and sweet against your own as your eyes slipped closed.

It was over. He was free. Nothing you had seen had changed the way you felt. And you felt a lightness in your heart, weight slipping off your shoulders as you deepened the kiss and pressed closer to him. When he finally pulled back, let you take a deep breath, dizzy and warm and full to bursting with joy, his smile was just as eager as your own.

There were so many things you wanted to do, now that you were both free. And you knew exactly where to start.

\---

Sitting on the fire escape outside your apartment, you watched the sun rise. Jason snored in your bedroom, limbs tangled in your sheets and both Schnitzel and Yarrow cuddled up close to him. He deserved the rest, deserved to have a sleep not plagued with the fear of what would come when he woke up. You’d slipped out of his hold once he was asleep, retrieved a few items from your backpack, and slipped outside. With your legs dangling over the side of the rickety structure, you turned the daruma that Sumiko had given you over in your hands.

When you’d painted in the left eye, you’d wished on Jason’s behalf. Wished for him to be happy, to know peace, to no longer have his death haunting him. You opened up the little pot of black paint that Nanashi had given you, dipping in the brush. Smiling, you painted in the right eye. Once you were done, you held up the little doll, admired its strange face. Your wish had come true, finally, after so much heartbreak and bloodshed. Setting the doll down to rest in your lap, you leaned back and watched the sun rise over the horizon, hanging bright in the clear sky and painting it in soft shades of rose and peach.

Listening to the snores of the man you loved, breeze blowing soft and pleasant, you admired the first sunrise of the rest of your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise!! there's one more chapter. it'll act as an epilogue of sorts, and [points to eventual smut tag] I AM NOT A LIAR. i had originally planned to have it all be one update but.... well..... this part alone is about 27k and i did not want to drop a MONSTER on your laps. so i broke it into two parts. it'll be shorter than this update, and i'll hopefully have it done and ready to share with y'all soon. 
> 
> sumiko belongs to [the lovely mari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmetea), who also created the audio file for the first section of the fic, which is AMAZING and i am.... still stunned and delighted.
> 
> [support me on ko-fi!](https://ko-fi.com/difficultheart)


	13. Epilogue: The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: mention of medical abuse and sterilization, explicit sexual content (thigh riding, oral sex [female receiving], fingering, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms)

Cards spread out before you, a bowl of powder incense sending slow, spiraling patterns of smoke that smelled of lemongrass and myrrh drifting into the air, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. The future no longer came to you at the tip of your tongue, had adapted and changed so that you wrote it in flourishing strokes of a pen, fingertips tingling. A soundless sigh slipped past your lips as you wrote, fate itself taking your hand in theirs, putting the scattered, fleeting visions that passed through your mind down onto paper. This one, this vision, was a short one, your hand stilling only after a few written lines. Eyes slowly opening, you set down your pen.

Lucifer Morningstar sat across the table from you, strange copper eyes glinting as you passed the fortune over to him. A good fortune, rare for the former king of Hell, few troubles facing him in the immediate future. In the two months since he had passed his Judgement upon Jason, he had come to visit you twice a week, sitting at your kitchen table and sipping at herbal tea while you spun out the future for him. A smile curled up one corner of his lips, wicked pleasure in his eyes as he read of his good fortune, of business deals coming to fruition and favors he could collect. There were many souls in Gotham who had made deals with the devil, their pockets lined with dirty gold that he could use to make his home in the city. The roots of corruption in Gotham ran deep and branching, although you suspected that Lucifer, still eager to mete out punishment to those who deserved it, would pull up a few of those roots himself.

“Another job well done, my darling,” he said, folding up the fortune and tucking it into the inner pocket of his waistcoat. “I expected nothing less, but I do love when you see things going my way.”

Yarrow, who had grown large enough that you could no longer carry her with just one arm, let out a soft chirp as she hopped up onto Lucifer’s lap. He chuckled, gently petting her as she sniffed at his jacket, trying to find the treats that he always carried for her. After she’d settled down, staring up at him with her forked tail twitching indignantly, he finally fished out one of the treats, letting her eat it from the palm of his hand. Considering your familiar’s diet, you had thought it best not to ask what he put in the treats that she seemed to love so much. You smiled, reaching for the tea pot you’d set off to the side.

“Oh, no, I think I’ve demanded enough of your time.” Lucifer held up a hand, stopping you as you’d stood to pour him another cup of chamomile tea. When you tilted your head with a small frown, he only let out a fond little chuckle, carefully pushing the familiar out of his lap so he could stand. “While I do love having afternoon tea with you, I’m afraid that there are other things that demand my attention and you likely have plans of your own.”

For the first few weeks you’d done readings for him, you would have readily welcomed his visits being short. But you had baked blueberry scones and purchased his favorite tea, thinking that he would be staying as usual. Despite the fact that he was the _literal Devil,_ you’d gotten quite fond of your Uncle Lucifer. Despite his occasional cruel streak, you liked his sense of humor, enjoyed the stories he told you about the old days and all of the artists and musicians and writers he had met and befriended, liked that he treated you like an equal instead of a child. When you had a problem, he listened seriously, gave you real solutions. Of course, you also sometimes found those problems mysteriously solved before you got to them. But neither of you talked about that. Signing for him to wait, you rushed into the kitchen, pulling out a Tupperware container and placing a few of the scones inside before handing it over to him.

Lucifer’s smile twitched into fondness as he took them from you, reaching out to ruffle your hair.

“Thank you, lovely. I’ll share these with my visitors. I’m sure they’ll swing things in my favor.” He swept back your bangs and bent to brush a soft kiss against your forehead before he stepped back, straightening his waistcoat and shirt cuffs. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?”

Shaking your head, you tried to smother a grin.

 _Trip with Jason,_ you signed, _remember?_

“Ah, right, right.” He sighed, tucking the container of Tupperware under his arm. “Forgot all about that. I trust you’ll be safe and make good decisions while he selfishly keeps you to himself for a week.”

You rolled your eyes, although your smile only got larger.

 _Promise to be safe,_ you signed. _Good luck with your business._

“Ah, no good luck, only some good fortune. But thank you.” Lucifer walked through your living room, pausing for a moment to glance at the daruma, which sat next to a vase of fresh sunflowers on top of your bookshelf. “Feel free to reach out any time while you’re gone, darling. You know that—”

 _You always have time for me,_ you signed as he spoke, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

Gently pushing at his back, you grinned up at Lucifer as he opened the door. Schnitzel had raised his head from where he’d been napping on the sofa, tail giving a small, sleepy wag. Jason had dropped him off earlier that morning, knowing that you enjoyed taking care of the dog just as much as he enjoyed being around you.

“Almost forgot.” Reaching into waistcoat again, Lucifer pulled out an envelope, passing it over to you. Payment for your fortune, much more than you’d ever asked for, but you’d learned after the first few payments not to argue with him. He only paid more when you argued out of spite. “A bit extra for you. Think of it as vacation pay.”

Sighing, you took the envelope, already knowing that the little bit extra would likely be enough to pay a couple months rent. You gave him a quick hug before he waved and made his way down the hall, whistling as he walked. Closing the door, you leaned back against it for a moment. Yarrow trotted out from the kitchen, letting out an inquisitive chirp, tail flicking as she hopped up to settle on the cushion next to the dog.

 _Oracle okay?_ the familiar asked through your shared bond, purring when Schnitzel licked the top of her head.

 _I’m okay,_ you sent back to her, setting down the envelope on the coffee table.

You weren’t sure whether you were excited or anxious, the two feelings seeming to mingle together as you sat down heavily next to the two animals, Schnitzel pausing his grooming of your familiar so that he could wiggle over to rest his head on your lap with a soft whine. Sinking your fingers into his thick fur, you gently pet him, smiling as he let his eyes close, drifting back off to sleep. The peace had been welcome, a nice change of pace from the constant life or death situation you had been in previously. There were still nights when you woke up, alone in your bed or the room that Sumiko and Nanashi had set up for you, nightmarish images still lingering in your head and your heart in your throat. The paranoia was still there, even if it had faded slightly over time. You triple checked the locks on your windows and doors, especially on the nights you were alone. Even though Baphomet and all of her people had been killed, you took Lucifer’s warning about people seeking to use you seriously.

Others seemed to take it seriously, too. On nights when Jason was on patrol, not able to spend the night with you in your apartment, you sometimes caught a shadow lurking close by. Although it had scared you the first few times, you’d quickly learned that in Gotham, there was nothing to fear from the shadows that lurked on rooftops. Although Jason and Cass had both assured you that you didn’t need to leave anything for your occasional sentinels, you always made a point to leave out some fresh baked muffins or cookies before you went to bed on those nights, as thanks. Each morning, you retrieved an empty plate, quietly satisfied that at least you could make sure Jason’s siblings weren’t going hungry for one night.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking you out of your wandering thoughts. A text from Jason, the little red heart next to his contact name (along with other emojis next to important contacts) added by Cass when you’d left your phone unsupervised.

_Free in a few hours. You packed?_

You’d packed several days previously, your constant need to be moving or fidgeting making you over-prepared. Even after you’d sworn that you were done, you still found yourself taking out some clothes and throwing in others, doublechecking to make sure all of your travel toiletries were present and accounted for.

 _yep!_ you sent back, followed by a couple of smiley face emojis.

Jason simply sent back a thumbs up, and you grinned. Tossing your phone onto the coffee table, you walked back into the kitchen, pulling out a mixing bowl and pre-heating the oven. With the time you had left, you figured you could make just a few more thank you gifts for the people who were helping to make sure you got a little bit of time away.

\---

Sunlight streaming through the window, you woke slowly, the small spike of panic you felt at waking up in a strange place fading as consciousness came back to you. You were in a bungalow in Oregon, the soft sounds of the ocean just outside drowned out by Jason’s snores. You’d arrived the night before, still sleepy from the Xanax you’d taken to get through your first flight, had barely managed to change into pajamas before you’d passed out. The usual weight of Schnitzel and Yarrow at your feet was missing, the dog staying with Jason’s older brother Dick (who had agreed to look after him for the small price of a few batches of your chocolate chip cookies) and the familiar with your mothers (who got the remainder of the scones you’d made). Carefully, you slipped out of Jason’s grip, pausing at his soft groan and waiting until he flopped onto his back, snoring again, before you shuffled into the bathroom just across the hall. Flicking on the light, you leaned against the sink, staring blearily at your reflection.

The gash across your throat had become raw scar tissue, close to fully healed, the scar across the bridge of your nose and cheekbone already fading. Sumiko had released you from her care just a few days before, confirming that you were safe to travel. No new issues had cropped up in the tests she’d run on you, no permanent tissue damage done after your change. She’d given you a few prescriptions for your anxiety, replaced the old hormone implant in your upper arm with a new one. Turning on the sink, you splashed your face with cold water, sighing as the shock of it helped dissolve the last lingering bits of exhaustion. Pushing your hair away from your face, you let yourself get one last, lingering look at yourself before you made your way into the kitchen.

The bungalow was small but homey, decorated like the model homes you’d seen in magazines, throw pillows and drapes all warm colors, the rugs that covered the wood floors thick and plush against your bare feet. A little woodstove sat in the corner of the living room, no doubt there to warm up the space during cold Oregon winters. Pausing long enough to open up a couple of windows, you took a deep breath, the fresh sea breeze energizing. Even in the middle of the summer, the weather was mild, or at least it was early in the morning. Jason had been quietly disappointed that you’d missed going in the spring, when the flowers were blooming, but had agreed when you’d pointed out that summer was the perfect time to go to the beach. Locating the coffee pot, you looked through the cabinets, shuffling aside cans of non-perishable food until you spotted a metal tin of coffee and paper filters.

While the coffee brewed, you stared out of the window above the kitchen sink, the long blue stretch of the ocean visible. It looked different from the pictures and videos you’d seen, brighter and more active than you had imagined. Although it had taken longer than either of you had wanted, Jason had kept his promise, and despite your lingering exhaustion, you were excited to run out, to feel the sand between your toes. After dreaming of it for so long, you were finally going to be able to run out into the surf, feel the cool waters on your skin and sink beneath its surface.

The floorboards creaked softly moments before you felt Jason’s arms curl around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You relaxed back against him immediately, sighed as he buried his face in your hair and squeezed you softly.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, deep voice even rougher and deeper with sleep, the sound causing heat to pool low in your belly.

You turned in his arms, answering him with a soft kiss to his jaw, his eyes still half-lidded when you pulled back. Signing a quick good morning back to him, you let out a raspy, barely audible giggle as he bent his head to nuzzle against your throat and shoulder, stubble rough against your skin. On the mornings that you were able to wake up next to him, he’d always been sleepily affectionate, liked to trail kisses over your face and (after it had healed) your throat. But he held you a little tighter, pressed you a little closer to him as you wound your fingers into his hair, which you’d cut for him in his bathroom just a few days before. You had liked the shaggy look on him, but you had to admit that the undercut (which you were quite pleased at doing correctly with the help of a few videos) looked good on him, too. After one last, lingering kiss to the corner of your lips, he reluctantly let you go.

Stretching his arms over his head with a low groan, you leaned back against the skin, eyes dropping to the small patch of tan skin exposed when his shirt rode up. Joints in his shoulders and back softly popping, he sighed as he let his arms fall back to his sides, blinking sleepily as you retrieved two mugs, pouring him some coffee.

“Thanks,” he yawned, taking the mug you offered him with another tired smile. “Sleep okay?”

More than okay. The medication had ensured you slept like the dead, not even dreams coming to you as they usually did. You sipped at your coffee before setting it back down, gently tapping his arm to get his attention.

 _Sorry if I woke you up,_ you signed.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Smell of coffee woke me up,” he grunted.

After two months of daily lessons from Cassandra that lasted several hours each, you’d become far more comfortable with communicating through sign language. The language had come easy to you once you’d learned the structure, become more comfortable with expressing yourself through body language and movement like Cass. There were still things you didn’t know, moments when you had to pull out your phone to get across what you needed to say. But those moments were far rarer than they had been, and Jason had learned to read your body language and facial expressions well enough that sometimes you didn’t even need to sign for him to figure out what you wanted to say.

 _Sleep okay?_ you signed.

“Mm, like a baby. Always do when I’m with you,” he said, smirking when you flushed. “There’s a grocer just a short walk from here, according to Google maps. Once I finish my coffee, I figured I could go there, get stuff to make meals for the week while you check in with your moms. Sound good?”

You nodded, stomach growling at the thought of food. Since you’d passed out so soon after arriving the night before, you hadn’t eaten in a while. Hopping up on the counter, you swung your legs as you sipped at your coffee, watching Jason as he downed his, setting the mug down in the sink. He stepped close, resting a hand on your thigh. The touch sent a little shiver through you, your fingers tightening around your mug as he pressed another kiss to the corner of your lips.

“After breakfast, we can walk along the beach. Find some tide pools. Don’t think it should get too hot today.” He pulled back slightly, fingers skimming down to your knee, thumb rubbing gentle circles into the skin. “Maybe swim a little, if you’re up for it.”

Another sharp nod, sipping at your coffee and hoping that the mug hid your blush. Jason pulled all the way back, lips twitching into a grin at your visible disappointment.

“I’ll be back soon.”

You slumped as he walked back down the hall, the bedroom door clicking shut behind him. Hopping off the kitchen counter, you poured some more coffee for yourself before moving to the living room. Retrieving your phone from your purse, you curled up in one of the armchairs, legs hanging off the side as you scrolled through your notifications. A few missed texts from Cass, checking in on you and making sure that you got there okay. You sent off confirmation that you’d arrived, moving on to the texts from your mothers. Nanashi had only sent one, telling you to be safe attached with a picture of Yarrow and Momo curled up together in the enormous cat tree, both of them sleeping. Sumiko had sent several, telling you that they’d enjoyed the scones, that Uncle Luci had stopped by to visit Yarrow, that she missed you and hoped you had a good flight and slept well. Both of your mothers had been busy lately, looking into something that they hadn’t shared with you yet, or you were sure they would have sent you more messages. It was still incredibly early in Gotham, so you typed up a quick text confirming you were awake, had slept through the flight, and were enjoying the trip so far. By the time you sent it off to both Sumiko and Nanashi, Jason had emerged from the bedroom, running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to tame it. With a little wave, you watched him leave, slumping back against the chair when the door closed behind him.

Staring at the blank screen of your phone, you zoned out for a moment, the silence surrounding you oddly comforting. As much as you’d been looking forward to the vacation, to spending time alone with Jason without him having to worry about running off to go on patrol or fix some situation his siblings had gotten into, you were also nervous. While you’d still been healing, the two of you had been careful around one another, keeping your moments of affection tame even while there was an underlying tension. There were moments when his hands had slipped a little too low on your hips, your fingers had slipped up just an inch or two under his shirt, you’d both woken up to find him pressed hard against your backside. He’d taken to teasing you, never stepping over the line but toeing it, stoking a low heat in you that left you squirming. You’d had no idea how to step over that line, knew that while you’d been healing, he wouldn’t have let you for fear of hurting you. But now? Now, you were healed, alone in a bungalow on a beach with him for a week.

Sighing, you shook your head, refused to let your thoughts drift. You were there to see the beach, to get away from it all. That was all. If anything happened… You would cross that bridge when you got there. Pushing yourself out of the chair, you shuffled back to the bedroom, focusing on changing instead of the inappropriate direction your thoughts wanted to take.

By the time Jason came back, arms full of brown paper bags stuffed with fresh groceries, you’d changed into a sun dress Sumiko had bought for you. Looking up from the book you’d been reading, you set it aside and got up, taking a couple of the bags from him despite him insisting that it was fine. Unloading the food from the bags, you let him put it away, feeling a sense of domestic peace as he sang under his breath, keeping out a carton of eggs and a container of bacon. When you started to pull out a pan to get the food started, he snatched it from you, quirking an eyebrow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, lips twitching as he suppressed a grin.

 _Breakfast_ , you signed, tilting your head to the side in confusion.

“Mm, no, I don’t think so, princess.” Grinning when you flushed, he placed the pan down on the little gas stove, ushering you out of the kitchen. “This is all about me taking care of you, alright? Get your book, go outside, enjoy the nice weather. When it’s ready, I’ll bring it out to you with some tea, yeah?”

 _Sure?_ you signed, frowning up at him.

“I’m sure.” When you hesitated, he leaned against the counter, lifting an eyebrow. “If you don’t go by yourself, I can carry you.”

Shaking your head, you narrowed your eyes when he chuckled but shuffled out of the kitchen anyways. While you were tempted to let him haul you over his shoulder and carry you out, you were hungry enough that you didn’t want to waste any more time waiting for food. You retrieved your book, pausing for only a moment as you passed by the kitchen again. Jason hummed as he cracked eggs into the pan, a kettle on the stove to heat up water for the tea. A picture of domestic bliss, one you would have been happy to wake up to every morning. Before he could catch you lingering by the door, you slipped outside. The patio was nearly as large as the living room, several planters full of flowers lining one side. Flopping down in one of the chairs, you kicked your legs up onto the little wicker table, opening up your book and enjoying the sea breeze, cool against your skin.

Jason plucked the book from your hands just as you finished a chapter, grinning when you looked up at him and placing a plate down on your lap instead. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and fresh strawberries, along with a mug of warm chai tea. Taking a brief moment to sign a ‘thank you’, to him, you dug in immediately afterwards, the faint annoyance you’d felt at your book being taken from you disappearing as you ate. You’d been much hungrier than you realized, finished off your plate in a matter of only a few minutes. Jason paused, the last slice of his bacon halfway to his mouth as you set aside your plate with a happy sigh, sipping at your tea. When you glanced over at him, he grinned, popping the bacon in his mouth.

 _What?_ you signed, tucking your legs up to your chest.

“Just good to see you with an appetite,” he said, setting aside his plate and leaning back in his chair.

Between your healing throat and the medicine you’d been taking, your appetite had suffered. But you felt full, satisfied. It was good to have it back, to eat good food made with love. Smiling, you sank further down in your chair and sipped again at your tea. Jason waited until you’d finished it before he took the empty mug from you, picking up the plates as well and gently pushing down on your shoulder when you started to stand.

“Nope,” he said. “Taking care of you, remember? Stay here, relax. Once I’m done cleaning up, we can go for that walk, yeah?”

Easily sinking back down into your chair, you nodded.

“Want me to bring out one of your chokers and a cardigan, too?”

Another nod, your lips curling up into a fond smile. While you’d grown comfortable with Jason seeing your scars, you still hid them as much as you could in public, didn’t want people you didn’t know staring at them. He bent to press a quick kiss to your head before heading back inside. You briefly considered picking up your book again, but settled for watching him through the kitchen window, eyes closing for a moment as you heard his muffled singing, the lyrics familiar. It had been one you’d heard on the radio, the singer’s voice deep and pleasant, Jason’s own suited to the melody. It brought back memories of your time on the road with him, your feet up on the dash, wildflowers in your pockets, singing along to old country songs together. Although you didn’t miss the danger you’d been in, didn’t miss the pain and the fear, you missed those small moments. Missed all of the firsts you had on the road, watching mountains and plains and fields of wildflowers roll by. There were more firsts to be had, of course. But back in Gotham, you missed the wilderness. Missed looking up at the night sky and seeing the stars with startling clarity, like light shining through holes punched into a dark blanket.

There was a gentle touch to your cheek and when you opened your eyes, Jason leaned over you, one had braced on the back of your chair. The corners of his eyes wrinkled when he smiled, a flush coming unbidden to your cheeks as he took your hand and helped you up. You let him carefully clasp one of your thick ribbon chokers around your neck, his fingers lingering at the back of your throat for a moment before he pulled away. Shrugging on the cardigan he’d brought out for you as well, you linked your fingers with his and followed his lead. Bare feet sinking into the sand, you stayed just a step behind him, admired the way his hair moved in the breeze, the confident set of his shoulders, the way his thumb brushed over the back of your hand. Even in a strange place, with strange people passing you by, you felt safe and secure in his presence.

And then you let your attention drift away from him and towards the ocean, the deep blue waters that ebbed and flowed. Breathing in, you closed your eyes, the salty, wild smell of the ocean much stronger up close than it had been in the bungalow. Letting go of Jason’s hand, you opened your eyes again, took slow, cautious steps closer to the water. Your toes curled into cold, wet sand, fingers curling into the sleeves of your sweater as the ocean rolled over your feet, crashed over your ankles. When it ebbed, retreating away, sea foam lingering for only seconds on your feet, you waded in further. All the way up to your shins, the tiding pushing back at you, water rising up above your knees and almost making you stumble. But it was exhilarating. Different from standing in the tub, different from standing in the rain. The ocean left a different feeling against your skin, one that left you feeling energized and refreshed. Sinking your toes into the muddy sand, you turned back towards Jason, pushing your hair away from your face when the breeze picked back up again.

He lowered his phone, grinning back at you. Pictures, specifically pictures of you, were a thing you were still getting used to. Sumiko took a lot of them, had printed out some of her favorites and framed them to put in the house and her office, your smiling, baffled face always placed next to Nana’s dark, knowing smirk. The breeze caught the short-sleeved white button up he wore, the hem ruffling, his own fingers pushing back the hair that fell into his eyes. Your breath caught, the image of him standing just at the edge of the ocean, eyes the brightest, clearest green you’d ever seen and a broad, happy smile on his face the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Although you’d left your phone in the bungalow, you took a mental snapshot of him, tucking it carefully away to remember on the nights when you were alone and missing him. The waves pushed against you once more, the bottom of your sundress floating up around your thighs, soaked through as you braced yourself and waved at him.

With zero hesitation, Jason ran into the surf after you, phone shoved into the pocket of his shorts as he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off your feet. A soft, breathy sound of surprise left you, the closest you could get to a laugh as he spun you, ignoring the strong pull of the ocean. He was solid as a rock, not even stumbling as the waves crashed over him. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you shook with quiet, breathy laughter as he carried you through the surf, moving closer to the edge of shore but still wading through the water. It was only after you tapped his shoulder that he set you back down, one strong arm still wrapped around your waist as you regained your balance. Even when you began to pull away, wanting to run through the shallow water, his fingers lingered as long as they could before you slipped away. Even as you ran through the surf, you could hear him just behind you, although he passed you quickly. When he looked back over his shoulder and saw you pouting, stumbling in the weight of the rising tide, he laughed and turned so that he was jogging backwards. When he tripped and fell backwards with a loud splash, you tried to hold back your laugh, standing over him and bracing your hands on your knees.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, he spat out a mouthful of seawater and frowned up at you, although you could see a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“Don’t laugh,” he muttered.

You only grinned and reached out to push wet hair from his face. Normally, you would have been concerned about his phone getting submerged in the ocean, but you’d once seen him drop it from the top of a four-story building. When he’d retrieved it, there hadn’t been a scratch on it. If it could survive that fall, you figured it could survive some salt water. Holding your hands out to him, you helped him back up to his feet, sodden shirt clinging to him.

 _Change?_ you signed, trying not to stare openly at him.

“Nah,” he said, shrugging as he wrung out the bottom of his shirt, water still dripping from the ends of his hair. “It’ll dry out soon enough.”

You were more worried about him catching a cold from the cool breeze, but he didn’t seem at all worried as he peeled the wet cloth away from his chest and reached a hand out towards you. Although, if he wasn’t worried about it, you certainly weren’t going to complain, either. Taking his hand, you let him lead you once more, openly admiring the visibly defined muscles in his back while his attention was on the beach.

Jason took you to a section of tide pools, helped boost you over rocks to get to a close cluster of them. Crouched on the smooth, sea-worn rocks, hugging your knees, you watched him from the corner of your eye as he pointed out the sea life living in the little pools, anemone clinging to rough patches of rock and clusters of colorful little starfish. There were hermit crabs and tiny little fish that looked like slivers of sunlight, patches of brilliant algae and swaying little plants that the fish hid behind when you leaned closer. Jason caught a tiny frog in one of them, held it in his palm while you stared at it in open fascination, gently stroked a finger over its slimy skin. When it hopped out of his hand and back into the pool, you jumped, pouting when Jason laughed at you.

Carefully navigating your way out, jumping from one patch of smooth rock to another to avoid agitating any of the pools, you looked up at the distant sound of thunder. Dark clouds quickly drifted in, although you hadn’t called the storm yourself. Hours had passed quickly while you explored the beach, late morning melting into late afternoon, but you hadn’t wanted to leave. Not yet. Jason frowned as he watched the storm roll in as well, taking your hand.

“Come on,” he sighed. “We should get back to the bungalow.”

Tempted as you were to see how wild and untamed the waves could get in the middle of a storm, you still nodded, ran through the sand after him. Lungs burning, you fell behind, stumbling and reminded once more of the failings of your still-weak body. But Jason did not seem at all annoyed when he glanced back and found you doubled over, gasping for breath while he hadn’t even broken a sweat. As easily as he would have picked up a bag of produce, he hauled you up over his shoulder and gripped the back of your thighs tightly as he jogged. But even with the quick pace he’d set, your face buried in your hands to hide your embarrassed blush, he could not outrun the fast-approaching storm. The downpour hit while you were still a short distance from the bungalow. But Jason kept running, taking the steps up to the porch two at a time once you’d arrived, both of you already soaked through from the rain. Setting you down carefully once you were inside, Jason bent over to brace his hands on his knees, catching his breath.

The wind howled as you rushed to close the windows and lock them, dripping rainwater and suppressing a shiver at the cold that was beginning to set into your bones. Peeling off your soaking cardigan, you placed it in the kitchen sink before going back to Jason, who’d sat down heavily on the floor of the living room. Chest still heaving, he glanced up at you, wet hair in his eyes and skin still slick with rain. Something in his eyes changed as you walked over to him, pushing your own hair back and out of your face, kneeling next to him. His pupils dilated, breath catching in his chest. You shrugged it off, tried to ignore the heat in his gaze.

 _Okay?_ you signed, hands hovering for a moment before you reached out to run your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” he said, although you weren’t certain if he was still breathless from running and carrying you, or from something else. Clearing his throat, he looked away from you, shifting awkwardly. “Just glad… we got inside before it… got worse.”

There was a bright flash of lightning and a loud crack of thunder, making you jump. The rain fell harder, drumming loud against the roof and windows. The little storm in your heart, the one that turned your heartbeat into thunder, the rush of blood through your veins into a downpour, resonated with it. Another shiver ran down your spine, goosebumps raising on your skin as you shook your head, focused on the present moment instead of losing yourself in the rush. Jason had closed his eyes, took deep, measured breaths and leaned back against the arm chair. When you tapped his shoulder, tried to get his attention, a muscle in his jaw twitched but he didn’t open his eyes.

“You should change into something dry,” he told you, voice strained. “Get warmed up so you don’t catch a cold.”

When his hands curled into tight fists at his sides, the realization that he was _holding himself back_ hit you like a swift punch in the gut. For all of his teasing, his wicked little grins and wandering hands, Jason still kept an iron grip on his self-control to keep himself from pushing too far, too fast. Even alone in a bungalow with you, storm raging outside, both of you soaking wet, he held back. And in that moment, watching him grapple with his desire, you knew with a bone-deep kind of clarity that you didn’t want him to hold back. Not anymore. Something warm and sticky blossomed, low in your gut, branching up to wrap tightly around your heart. Pulse racing, you hesitated for a moment. Tried to figure out how best to navigate the situation you’d found yourself in. He wouldn’t act on what he wanted, not unless you took that first step. Fingers trembling, you took a deep breath and steeled yourself for what you were about to do.

You moved closer to him, grazed your knuckles over the sharp line of his jaw. When he cracked one eye open, brow furrowed in confusion, you moved to straddle him. With your hands braced on his shoulders, you could feel the way he tensed, eyes opening wide in surprise.

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled, voice cracking, “what are you—”

Leaning forward, you kissed him, cutting him off abruptly. He stiffened, expression stuck somewhere between surprise and excitement, hands hovering over your hips. Flushed, embarrassed by your sudden forwardness, you sat back on his lap. He inhaled sharply, gaze dropping to where your dress had ridden up your thighs. Taking a deep breath, adam’s apple bobbing, he slowly, carefully rested his hands just below the hem of your dress. His thumb brushed against the inside of your thigh, the small motion drawing another shiver from you. Sharp eyes picking up on even that tiny motion, you watched his self-control slowly begin to fray, his body relaxing under yours as he met your nervous gaze. His hands slid up your thighs just a fraction, your fingers curling in the wet material of his shirt.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, searching your expression. “We can stop. Any time.”

Swallowing the nervous lump in your throat, you nodded. Just like that, his control snapped. You let out a soft sound of surprise when he surged forward, lips crashing against your own. Fingertips sinking into the back of your thighs, he pulled you flush against him, your own hands moving to tangle in his wet hair. Teeth scraping over your bottom lip, he let out a dark chuckle at the gasp he drew from you, sitting up further and kissing you again. Hungry, desperate, the few sounds you could make muffled against his chapped lips. You didn’t want to stop. Not if this was what you had been missing out on, one of his hands tangling in your wet hair and gently easing your head back, your eyes half-lidded and heart racing as his lips slid down to your jaw. He paused before he got to your throat, fingers sliding down from your hair to rest at the clasp of your choker. When you glanced down at him, you found a question in his hot gaze, waiting for your permission. You gave a short nod, shuddered as he unclasped the necklace and set it aside. His lips were soft, careful as they pressed a soft kiss to the edge of the thick scar on your throat. Eyes slipping closed, your grip tightened in his hair as he continued to trail down, grazing his teeth over the rapid flutter of your pulse, the flushed skin of your collarbone. Nipping gently, leaving little marks as he kissed over the line of your shoulder, the pale scars that Dagon had left on the flesh there. His thumb hooked in the thin strap of your dress, easing it down your arm.

“You’re trembling, sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin.

Pulling back, he ran his hands over your upper arms, rubbed some heat into the chilled skin there. Taking a shaking breath, you realized that he was right. You were trembling, like a branch caught in a storm, fingers shaking as you slipped your hands down to rest on his chest. Although you wanted him, wanted to feel his bare skin pressed against yours, wanted to know what he sounded like when he lost himself in you, some part of you was still scared. Scared that once you were bare to him, he would look at the map of scars on your skin and turn away. Scared that your inexperience would ruin it, keep him from doing the things that he wanted to do.

“We can stop.” He cupped your cheek, calloused palm warm against your smooth skin, his eyes still searching yours. “It’s okay if you’re not—”

 _I want you,_ you signed. _I just don’t want to make a mistake._

Jason’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

“You won’t.” He chuckled, taking your hands in his. “And even if you do, that’s not going to change anything. I’ll still want you. No one is perfect their first time. It’s all about adjusting to your partner, learning what they like and teaching them what you like. I’m not gonna be selfish, either. If you wanna keep going, this is gonna be about making _you_ feel good. Not me.”

Your blush darkened at his words, biting your lip as his fingers tightened around your own. His gaze darkened, breath hitching slightly, but he didn’t move. Not until you pulled your hands from his.

 _Make me feel good,_ you signed with shaking fingers. Then, after a pause, _Please._

“Oh, honey,” he told you, voice dropping to a low pitch that made you squirm in his lap, “I _promise_ I will.”

The warmth in your core spiked, eyes wide as your breath caught in your chest. Carefully, he guided your movements, repositioned you so that he could pick you up, taking only a few quick strides around to deposit you on the couch. You stared up at him, his hands coming to brace on either side of your head as he positioned himself over you. One of his thighs pressed between your legs, dress riding up as you gasped, hips twitching at the contact. His eyes darkened, gaze drifting down as he pressed further, a soft whimper slipping past your lips.

“You’re _soaked,_ _”_ he said, voice a low purr. You were mortified at how wet you already were, toes curling. But he looked pleased, proud of himself as one hand slipped down to grip your hip. The muscles in his thigh clenched and your back arched, fingers coming up to grip the front of his shirt. “Let’s start out slow, sweetheart. Don’t hold back.”

His thigh pressed harder against your soaked core, your eyes slipping closed at the spike of pleasure you felt just from the pressure. Instinctively, your hips moved, ground against his thick thigh. You needed the friction, the pressure, his muscles flexing against you and drawing another gasp. It felt _good,_ the drag of both his warm skin and your panties against where you needed it most. Raw animal lust ran through your veins, the rush of rain against the bungalow replaced by your roaring pulse. Your lips slipped open into a silent cry, back arching further as Jason guided your movements, grip on your hip almost bruising as you ground up against him. When you opened your eyes, trembling and panting, you found him watching you, fascinated at the way you twitched beneath him. You pulled at his shirt, one of the buttons popping open, a low growl leaving him.

Pressing even harder against your center, he lifted your hips up, off the couch, the slick drag making you want to cry. It felt so good, _so incredibly good,_ but the coil in your gut was almost too much, a pressure that kept building and building. There was a warm fizzling in your veins, like the rush just before a prophecy, but different. A slow build instead of an overwhelming rush, warm and syrupy instead of cold and static.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Jason grunted, the grind of your hips against him fast, rough, desperate. You clawed at his shoulders, his back, the noises that you were able to make soft and rasping. “Let me see you cum for me. Let me see how _fucking good_ I’m making you feel. I wanna see you fall apart.”

Eyes rolling back, you continued to let out desperate little sounds, barely audible over the slick sounds of your twitching core grinding against his thigh in quick, desperate motions. You threw your head back, hands clutching at the cushions of the sofa as the pressure in you built until it was almost painful. Almost there, standing at the precipice of a feeling you’d only ever read about in dime-store romance novels. Jason clenched his thigh, pushed your hips down hard against him, and you went hurtling over the edge. Breath leaving your lungs, your limbs locked as your orgasm rushed through you, so overwhelming that you squeezed your eyes shut, felt a few tears roll down your flushed cheeks. Jason worked you through it, mumbling distant words of praise as you slowly came back to yourself. Panting, you slumped back against the couch, eyes slowly opening as Jason pressed kisses over your face.

 _Holy shit,_ you thought, wishing you could say it out loud. Your fingers slipped away from the cushions, the indentations your sharp nails had left there. When you whimpered, he shifted his leg away, wiped away the tears on your cheeks and smiled when your eyes finally refocused.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice soft. “Doing okay?”

Nodding enthusiastically, you felt your heart swell when he laughed, gently pulling you up so that you could nuzzle against him. The soft post-orgasmic haze you felt radiated through your limbs, making you feel like putty in his arms as he carefully lifted you, guiding your legs around his waist. Face tucked into his shoulder, you let him carry you down the hall and into the bedroom. He set you down carefully, had to coax you to let go of him so that he could stand back. Even in the dim light of the room, you could see him straining against the front of his shorts. You weren’t done, not yet. Something in you had unfurled and bloomed, wanted everything he could give you and more. He peeled off his wet shirt, tossing it aside as you pushed yourself up to sit back against the headboard. Fingers curling into the bottom of your sundress, you felt the warmth blossom again when his eyes glinted as they slowly looked you over, lingering on your legs and the marks he’d left on your collarbone and throat.

When you motioned for him to come closer, he did so with no hesitation, crawling up to kneel in front of you. Feeling uncharacteristically bold, you reached out, fingertips skimming over the large, y-shaped scar on his chest. From his autopsy, you’d come to understand. When your fingers trailed from his sternum down his abdomen, his muscles clenched under your touch. You glanced back up at him, hand resting just above the waistband of his shorts. There was a flush to his cheeks, the shell of his ears, that spread across his chest as well. He took hold of your hand, pulling it away so that he could press a soft kiss against your palm.

“We should get you out of that dress,” he mumbled, lips curling up into a smile. “Let me warm you up?”

He didn’t need to say anything else. You pulled down the zipper at the side of your dress, let him help you pull it over your head. After he tossed it aside, you settled back down on your knees again, hands clasped in your lap and skin flushed as he looked you over. He’d seen you shirtless before, but this was different. Sitting only in your ruined panties and a bralette, his gaze on you felt like it burned. You had to actively fight the urge to cover yourself, to trust that he’d still find you attractive—all of you. After a long moment, he brushed your damp hair back from your face and shifted forward to kiss you again. Softer, this time. Less heat, less desperation. You let him press you back against the headboard again, coax your legs open so that he could settle between them. When he pulled back, brushing his knuckles over your jaw, the smile he gave you was tender and warm.

“You’re beautiful,” Jason whispered. “You know that, right?”

When you gave him a small shrug, leaning into his touch, he sighed. His free hand settled on your waist, large and warm.

“You are. Like I said before…” He grinned, hand skimming up until it rested just under your breast, breath catching in your throat. “The gold shines through.”

Your smile as an answer was small, shaking. A reminder of what he’d told you when he’d confessed his feelings, reaffirming them once again. He pressed a kiss to the hollow of your throat, your legs clenching around him when he cupped your breasts. Feeling his smile against your skin, he moved down to kiss the scar he’d given you between your collarbone and shoulder. Your breath caught as he kissed your sternum, hands smoothing down over your ribs to your waist once more. Shifting, he kissed the scars on your ribs, the one that Caim had left on your stomach. With each kiss, it felt like your skin began to glow, rain tapping loud and frantic against the bedroom window. When he slipped down to lay on his stomach, hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties, your breath caught. For a moment, he paused, looked you in the eye.

“Okay?” he asked.

You nodded.

Lips quirking up into a pleased smile, he peeled them off, holding them up and letting out a dark chuckle.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, voice so low it matched the rumble of thunder outside. Your toes curled into the soft comforter, legs trying to press together despite his large, solid body between them. “Look at how wet you got for me.”

Whimpering, you bit your lip again as he tossed them aside. He paused, eyes catching on the long horizontal scar on your pelvis. A bleak reminder of something else that had been taken from you, his thumb brushing over it. You watched him closely, carefully, trying to judge his reaction to it. He’d known, of course. After Sumiko had found out and told Nanashi, you’d told him. Watched his expression shift and change, much like your mothers’ had. But the scar? It was a physical reminder of things that you could never give to him. You worried that he would pull away, or that you’d see that tell-tale dark sadness enter his gaze and shatter the tension in the air. Instead, he glanced back up at you, pressed another soft kiss to the scar as his hands came to rest against the inside of your thighs. His warm gaze turned to the new scar on the inside of one of them, the one that you’d given yourself to see your return to the compound. Resting his head against your knee, he brushed a thumb over it, letting out a soft hum.

“Where’d this come from?” he asked.

 _Chicago,_ you finger spelled, shaking terribly.

Recognition lit up his expression.

“That’s how you knew?” he asked.

You nodded, let out another muted sound of surprise when he gently tugged you forward, urged you to reposition your hips. Pressing your hands over your face, you wondered if your skin would catch fire from the hot flush rising to it, his fingers curling around your thighs once more and opening you up for him. You could _feel_ the slick that had begun to run down your thighs, a physical sign of just how badly you wanted him. Before, when you felt that telltale syrupy warmth in your belly, you’d just tried to suppress it and taken a cold shower if you needed to. It was shameful, you’d thought. Shameful to sink to such base, impure desires. But Jason looked delighted, glancing up at you from between your legs.

“Hold on tight, princess,” he purred.

The first press of his lips to you felt… strange. Not in a bad way, not when it sent a hot spike through you that stole your breath once again. You threw your head back, let your fingers grasp at his hair as he ran his tongue through your folds, kept you spread open and vulnerable before him. If you’d really tried, really wanted to close your legs and pull away, you knew he would have relented. But for some, strange reason, the illusion of his complete control over you… it felt _amazing._ Made you somehow even wetter, drew the closest thing to a moan that you could make from you. Jason’s mouth felt like magic, drawing feelings from you that you didn’t know even existed, his grip keeping your twitching limbs from thrashing. You gasped for breath, chest heaving as he sucked your clit, speared his tongue inside of you, drew muted noises from you as your nails scraped over his scalp. One of his hands slipped away from your thigh, glowing green eyes watching you as he slipped a thick finger inside of you.

The penetration felt just as strange as that first press of his lips. Uncomfortable, at first. But when he lapped at you, eased that weird stretch, the discomfort turned into a low burning pleasure. He slipped another finger inside, stretched you carefully, paused anytime you twitched or pulled at his hair. As enthusiastic as he seemed to be to go down on you, he still paid attention to you, made sure that you were still enjoying the way he was unravelling you. Rhythm of his fingers plunging inside of you speeding up, your hips arched up towards him, body twisting as you hurtled towards a second orgasm. The noises were drowned out by another crack of thunder, flash of lightning casting strange shadows from the blinds over your twitching legs and the broad expanse of his back. Chest heaving, you curled in on yourself, thighs pressing in against his head and heels digging into his back. But it only seemed to energize him more, his fingers curling in a way that shattered you. The back of your head cracked against the wall, but you barely even felt it, pulling at his thick, soft hair as you sobbed at the aftershock. But even as you gasped and twitched, gushed over his lips and chin, he did not relent. Slipping his fingers out of you, he lapped up everything you had to give, your core so sensitive that he sent you quickly over the edge again, your body shaking and tears spilling down your cheeks at your oversensitivity.

It was only when you slumped back against the headboard, limbs going limp, that he pulled away. You shuddered at the slick that coated his mouth and chin, knowing that you should have felt mortified but only feeling a strange surge of pride as he licked at his lips. Wiping at the rest of it with the back of his hand, he watched you, breathing heavy as you sank back into the pillows, damp hair fanning out around you. He released your legs, the kisses he pressed to the little bruises his fingers had left feather light. Soothing, instead of trying to rev you back up again. When you reached for him, he leaned into the touch, eyes closing as you trailed shaking fingers over his cheek, the line of his jaw. He let out another soft hum, curled his fingers around your wrist as he shifted back up onto his knees.

“Still okay?” he asked.

 _More than okay,_ you signed back to him, smiling when he laughed.

“I promised you I’d make you feel good,” he whispered, his smirk proud.

Not that you could blame him. He should have been proud of what he’d drawn out of you, the way you’d shattered under his careful, methodical touch. Legs still braced on either side of his hips, you pulled him closer to you so that you could kiss him, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. He started to shift away from you, but you stopped him, legs hooked around his waist.

 _I_ _want you to feel good too,_ you signed.

Jason hesitated. Even though he was clearly turned on, even though his pupils were dilated and he was blatantly, painfully hard, he hesitated. You knew that it had to be uncomfortable, being as hard as he had been for as long as he had. But he still put you first.

 _P_ _lease?_ you signed. Then, after your own moment of hesitation, added, _I want more._

“First time and you’re absolutely insatiable,” he said, although he didn’t seem displeased by the fact. Running a hand over his jaw, he let his eyes scan back over you before he sighed. “Let go of me for one moment, sweetheart.”

You didn’t want to. But you trusted that he would come back, pouting a bit as you unwrapped your legs from around him. Jason grinned, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to your cheek before he clambered back off the bed. His movements were stiff as he crouched next to his bag, digging around in it. Self-conscious with his back to you, you pulled your legs back together, hugged your knees to your chest as you sat up. Looking triumphant, he turned back to you, holding a foil packet in one hand and a tiny bottle in the other.

“Glad I came prepared,” he said, coming back to join you on the bed but sitting down next to you. “Although I was _kinda_ worried that I was overthinking things.”

 _You didn’t,_ you signed, suppressing a grin and resting your cheek on your knees. _Clearly._

“I’m glad that you trust me enough with this,” he told you, glancing over at you. “This… I don’t take it lightly, you know.”

 _I know,_ you signed back.

Because you did know. Any time things had gotten a little heavy before, he’d always been the one to step back, to cool down, to make sure that he respected your boundaries. Sometimes before you even realized that you’d started to grow uncomfortable, his sharp eyes never missing anything. Jason respected you, and that, more than anything, was what had helped you embrace the idea of sleeping with him. Because yes, he was _incredibly_ good looking. Yes, he had a nice body and big hands and clearly knew what he was doing. But what mattered more was that he was never going to take more from you than you could give. When he reached down to push off his shorts and briefs, you looked away, cheeks flushed.

“Sweetheart, you can look,” he chuckled, the bed creaking as he shifted his weight and the distinctive little thud of his clothes hitting the floor only making you flush more.

Taking a deep breath, you turned your head just enough to look at him and immediately froze up. Jason had laid out on his side, smirking up at you, head propped up on his fist. A cheeky position, you knew, but your eyes went straight to… well… You pressed your knees a little tighter to your chest, feeling both a spike in your nerves and heat pooling in your core. While you certainly weren’t very well versed in male anatomy, Jason… well, he looked _big._ Part of it was because he was erect, you knew, but it was still a bit overwhelming. Looking away sharply, you caught his gaze, his proud grin melting into concern. Sitting back up, he started to reach for the blankets to cover himself up.

“If it’s too much, that’s okay,” he said, ears flushed. “I get it, I don’t want to, uh… to hurt you, and I can always go jack off in the bathroom, if you don’t want to—”

You caught his wrist, stopping him. When he still wouldn’t look at you, you reached out, skimming your fingers over his shoulder and chest, down the mosaic of pale scars on his arm. After you shifted closer to him, he finally turned to look at you. Settled down on your knees, you smiled at him.

 _I want you,_ you signed, feeling a small surge of pride at the flush that brought to his face. _But please be gentle._

“Of course,” he said, reaching out and taking your hands. “Delphi, of course. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I… It might still hurt, or feel uncomfortable. And if it does, we can stop.”

Nodding, you took another deep breath, calming your nerves. Jason gave your hands a gentle squeeze before he pulled you closer. Obediently, trusting him fully, you let him position you so that you straddled him again, raised up on your knees and hands on his shoulders as you hovered over him. He sat up fully, one hand sliding low over your belly while the other brushed your hair back from your sweat-slick forehead, cupped the back of your head.

“You trust me?” he whispered, palm resting over the scar on your pelvis.

You nodded again, grip on his shoulders tightening when he leaned forward to kiss you. Pulling back, he picked up the little bottle. Lube, you realized, when he poured out a bit on his index and middle fingers. It was still a bit cool, made you jolt and shudder when he slipped his fingers inside of you. Shushing you, pressing kisses over your face, he carefully spread you, curled his fingers and hit a spot that had you clutching at him, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder. His praise was soft, voice low, slowly building you up. Before you knew it, you were dripping all over again, his fingers slick when he pulled them out.

“As wet as you get for me, maybe the lube wasn’t needed,” he whispered, chuckling when you shivered. “Move forward a bit for me, honey.”

When you immediately obeyed, pressed against his chest, you heard a low rumble of pleasure in his chest. Looking up, you watched him rip open the foil packet. A condom, of course. Although it wasn’t necessary, prevented something that you weren’t capable of any longer, you knew that it was best to be safe. He grunted as he rolled the condom on, adjusted you so that he could pour more lube into his palm and slick himself up. You watched his hand move over himself, fascinated and terribly turned on. He twitched, his breath coming in sharp little bursts when he was done.

“Okay,” he ground out, one hand on your hip, positioning you over him. “We’re gonna let you have control, yeah? Gonna be a bit of a stretch, hurt a bit, but go slow when you—”

Hands braced on his chest, you sank down on him before he could finish, his words devolving into a low groan and his head falling back. You didn’t get far, the stretch burning and uncomfortable. Thicker than his fingers, your nails scraping lightly over his shoulders as you paused. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. It hurt. Not enough to send visions scattering across your vision, but enough to make you need to adjust. Jason released your hip, cradled your face in his hands and kissed you softly.

“You’re doing good,” he whispered against your lips, “so good. Take your time, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Wiping away a tear that escaped with his thumb, he kissed you over and over, mumbled sweet, soft praise. Panting, you wrapped your fingers around his wrists as you sank further, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched. The pain, the stretch, slowly turned into something else once you had taken him completely, chest heaving. Jason continued to kiss you, let you settle, despite the way his fingers shook.

“Don’t move until you’re ready,” he said, voice strained. “You took me so good, sweet girl. So pretty, so good. So warm and wet.”

Tentatively, you raised your hips, a soft gasp escaping you when you sank back down on him. Jason let out a strangled noise, his hands falling to your hips as you slowly began to move. You were uncertain, hesitant at first. Didn’t know what would feel good for you, what would feel good for him. But he guided your movements, brow furrowed in concentration as you swiveled your hips at his guidance. He raised his legs, let you brace yourself against his knees, your hands resting on his chest as you rode him. The feeling of his cock inside of you, pulsing and thick, still felt a bit strange, a bit unfamiliar, but when he guided your hips just a fraction forward and hit a spot that had you seeing stars, you couldn’t deny that it felt good. Different from his tongue and fingers, but not bad. When you clenched around him he moaned, the sound somehow making you even wetter than you were before, slick beginning to trickle down your thighs. The sound of him moving inside of you, of your thrusts down on him, were wet, loud, obscene. But it only spurred you on, had you leaning forward against his chest, nails biting into his shoulders as you picked up your pace.

“Fuck,” he grunted, one hand gripping your hip with bruising force, the other sliding up to fondle one of your breasts. “Feel so good around me. So pretty when you fuck me.”

You let him unclasp your bra, threw your head back when he dipped his head to latch his lips around a nipple. He sucked hard, hips thrusting up to meet you, his careful, gentle touch replaced by a desperation and hunger that had you close to falling over the edge once more. Panting against your chest, he pressed a hand between your thighs, rolled his thumb against your clit and drew a rasping, broken sound from you.

“That’s it,” he growled, his movements growing faster, free hand gripping your hip as he thrust up into you, forced your movements to become harder and faster. “That’s it. Such a good girl. Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you come apart.”

That was all it took, his voice and his thumb pressing hard against your clit. Once more, you came for him, orgasm drawn out as he grunted and stilled, twitching and cumming inside of you. Both of you panted as you came back down, your body falling limp against him. Skin sweat slick and flushed, he let out a breathy laugh, the hand that had been gripping your hip coming up to stroke your hair. When he moved you to pull out, you let out a soft whine, still sore.

“You okay?” he asked, pulling back so that he could look at you.

Oh, you were more than okay. You felt wrecked, sated and satisfied in a way you hadn’t imagined in your wildest, filthiest dreams. Grinning, he peppered kisses over your face again, letting you roll off of him and onto your back. Your limbs still felt like putty, loose and limp as he disposed of the condom and leaned over you. His face was still flushed, smile breathless as he looked you over. You smiled back up at him, took a mental picture of him. Although you knew you’d likely see him in the afterglow many more times, pull new, sweet smiles from him… In that moment, he was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, hair plastered to his forehead and eyes glowing softly in the dim light.

“How about we go take a nice, warm bath?” he suggested, voice soft and sweet once more. “Might help ease some of the soreness.”

You held your arms up towards him, your quiet request to be carried met by another soft laugh from him. Jason gladly scooped you up into his arms, humming as he carried you out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. When he set you down on the toilet while he drew the bath, you took the washcloth that he offered you. Carefully, you cleaned your thighs, wincing at the soreness in your core. Your hips felt sore, too, your legs shaky as you stood and climbed into the bathtub. Jason settled in behind you, let you settle back against his chest. You let him wash your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp gently, combing tangles out of your hair once the shampoo was rinsed out. Although you wanted to return the favor, you were too tired, let him wash it himself while you curled against him and let your eyes drift closed.

Satisfied, warm, and happier than you’d been in weeks, you drifted off to the sound of Jason singing, his arms cradling you as gently as the water.

\---

Sitting cross-legged on the couch in Jason’s apartment, you tried not to feel disappointed. The vacation had been cut short a couple of days, a situation with a gang that he’d been tracking escalating to a point that required his presence. You understood, and assured him that it was okay and you weren’t mad. But you already missed the quiet comfort of the beach bungalow, the soft sound of the ocean replaced once more with distant sirens and the rumble of car engines on the street. It was nice to be back home, but you missed the isolation, the privacy it afforded the two of you. Schnitzel had curled up on the couch next to you, head resting on your lap as he slept, letting out a soft whuff every once in a while, paws twitching. You stroked his fur, found comfort in his affection as you watched Jason clean his pistols and a rifle, checking each part as he disassembled them for any potential problems that could lead to malfunctions.

You’d arrived back at his apartment less than an hour before, but he’d already changed into his Red Hood costume, hooded leather jacket tossed over the back of the chair he sat in as he worked.

“I’m sorry, again,” he told you, glancing up from cleaning the barrel of one of the pistols, lips curled down in a frown. “Cass said that the deal for the drugs is going down tonight, and as good as she is, she’d be outnumbered and I know these guys better than she does.”

 _It’s okay,_ you signed for what felt like the hundredth time that day. _Stop apologizing._

“Still feel bad,” Jason mumbled, setting down the barrel and sighing as he reassembled the gun. “You could’ve stayed there the last couple days, had some time to yourself.”

 _Would have felt lonely,_ you signed. _I’m glad I came home with you._

“I’ll make it up to you later,” he told you. “Promise.”

You knew he would. Likely with a few hours spent in his bed, an apology bouquet of flowers, and a home-cooked meal. Although you felt bad that he was guilty, you certainly weren’t going to stop him from spoiling you, either. Turning your attention to one of the guns he’d cleaned and assembled, you leaned forward, carefully picked it up and turned it over. There were little scuff marks, chips on each of his guns.

 _How?_ you signed when he looked up at you, thumb tapping one of the scuff marks.

“Ah,” he said, taking the gun from you and setting it back down on the table. “Forgot that you may not have seen me do that, while we were on the road. Came up with this move a while back. When I run out of ammo, don’t have time to reload, I just throw the gun at whoever I’m trying to take out. My aim’s gotten pretty good. Knocked a fair share of guys out.”

He mimicked throwing the gun, letting out a quiet snort before he turned his attention back to loading spare ammo clips to put in his belt. You frowned, looking back down at the gun. Although you hadn’t seen him do it, you could see the move pretty clearly in your mind’s eye. It was familiar, even though it shouldn’t have been. Maybe you’d simply seen it in one of your visions of him, back before you’d met. Jason finished loading one last clip, standing up and holstering his pistols. You stood as well, careful not to wake up Schnitzel, and watched him pull on his jacket.

“Don’t know how late I’ll be out,” he told you, strapping the rifle to his back and picking up his helmet from the table. “There should still be some tea in the cabinet, and there’s a menu for Chinese take out on the fridge. I’ll leave my wallet here, use my card if you do order anything. Don’t stay up if I’m not back before sunrise, yeah?”

It would be weird, staying in his apartment without him there. But you had Schnitzel for company, the layout of his apartment open and large, comfortable despite his eclectic decoration. The first time you’d come over, you’d marveled at the ceremonial weapons he displayed on the walls, the fine china tea sets and shelves full of first print books. It felt like _him,_ his presence lingering even if he wasn’t in the room with you. Jason slid his helmet on, started to turn toward the open balcony door. You reached out, grasped his sleeve to stop him.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” he asked, voice distorted by the helmet.

You laid a hand on the red emblem that stretched across his broad chest, the plates of body armor hard beneath your palm. Nerves almost making you chicken out, you took a deep breath before reaching up to pull his head down. You pressed a kiss against his helmet, the surface smooth and cold against your lips. Jason stiffened, frozen in place even when you pulled away, took a step back. Clearing his throat, he gave a small shake of his head to clear it, pulling up his hood. Although you couldn’t see his face, you knew his ears were flushed, knew you’d put a tiny smile on his face.

 _Be careful,_ you signed, watching him as he climbed onto the railing of the balcony.

“As you wish,” he said, distorted chuckle low when you flushed.

Pulling the grappling gun from the back of his belt, he jumped from the ledge, your heart stuttering for a moment as he fell out of sight. You ran to the railing, watching with wide eyes as he swung back into view, movements fluid and precise as he landed in a low crouch of the building across from you and ran off into the night. Sighing, you folded your arms on the cool metal railing of the balcony, looking out over the Gotham skyline. The stars may have been muted, but the city lights blinked back at you just as bright. Sending out a quiet prayer for Jason to come back to you safe and sound, you turned and headed back inside, the door shutting with a quiet click behind you.

No matter what kind of danger he faced, no matter what lurked just around the corner, hidden in the shadows, you knew, deep down, that so long as you had each other, it would be fine. Jason would come home to you, just as you had come back to him, the little red string around your finger always guiding you to the heart that you sheltered within your own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's all folks!! thank you so much for taking this journey with me. this story has been my favorite so far to write, and delphi has a special little place in my heart. so i had to write a nice, long happy ending to this story for her and jay. 
> 
> i have a series of side fics planned, the first of which should be up soon! they'll have delphi and jay in them, as well as nanashi and the girls from my two other fics and their respective boys. along with that, i'm happy to announce that the next multi-chapter fic i have planned (which those of you on tumblr know i've teased) is.... going to be a collaboration with [the lovely mari!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmetea) it will involve characters we've already introduced and bruce will be involved to a certain extent, but... that is all i'll say for now. we're still working on outlining the story, but while we get it ready, i'll have those side fics to tide y'all over. the fic we have for you is going to be absolutely wild, and i'm so excited to share it with y'all once it's ready.
> 
> [support me on ko-fi!](https://ko-fi.com/difficultheart)
> 
> [tumblr](https://spidergwenn.tumblr.com/)  
> discord: mynoghraa#8836


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